


Stay With Me So Happily

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott bites his lip. It’ll wilt after a few days. All the flowers in his hands will wilt, and then he’ll just have dried-out husks sitting in cloudy water while he counts down the days until he can go home. But…but for a few days, for those first days, for today, Derek gave him the sun.</p><p> <br/><em>(Or, a human AU where Derek works at his family's flower shop and Scott works at the tattoo shop next door.)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Teen Wolf Reverse Bang 2015](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/) and inspired by [henrymaarchbanks' amazing art](http://henrymaarchbanks.tumblr.com/post/126641478361/my-art-for-the-tw-reverse-bang-the-accompanying)!
> 
> Huge thanks to [shiny_glor_chan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_glor_chan/pseuds/shiny_glor_chan) for betaing! All mistakes are mine.
> 
> This is cheesy, schmoopy, gratuitous fluff in longfic form. Fic title is almost a line from ["Happily" by One Direction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUnqu_vVKOk).
> 
> Note: The actual fic is only 4 chapters long; Chapter 5 is a glossary of the flowers mentioned throughout the fic.

 

Derek doesn’t think much of the tiny dark head that skips by the shop’s windows. It’s probably some kid running ahead of their mother, on their way to pick up a pie from the diner across the road. Or maybe the whole family is going to the park for a sunset picnic. Summer’s just about to begin; the dusk weather is cool enough to be enjoyable for at least a few hours after the day’s heat.

The tiny head zips by again, undoubtedly called back to its parents. Derek stares ruefully after it. He’d love to go for a sunset picnic right about now, climb up one of the park’s many trees until he was high enough to reach for the sun as it fell into the horizon. Mostly, though, he’d just love to get out of this stuffy flower shop with the sunset burning a glare through the front windows. He sighs and takes a pot of primroses from the display table to the back room, then blinks when a familiar-looking head pops up in the empty window space.

The kid slows down in front of the windows, grinning at a vase of wisterias on the sill. Derek watches, baffled, as he all but plasters himself to the window, fogging up the glass with excited puffs of breath while his hands cup around his eyes – brown and wide and peering over flushed cheeks with a mole dotting one glee-crinkled corner, now that Derek can see his features more clearly against the sun’s bright glare.

The boy’s eyes dart up and grow impossibly wider as they finally notice Derek boggling at him from behind the periwinkles. He jerks away from the glass with a yelp, trips over his own legs, and falls over in a twisted heap on the sidewalk.

Derek hurriedly sets down the pot and runs outside. “Are you okay?” he means to ask, but instead blurts out, “What’re you doing out here?”

The boy sits up and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters, mouth set somewhere between a pout and a grimace as he clambers to his feet. “I was just – sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

He jams his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched in a too-big jacket as he shuffles down the sidewalk. An inhaler sits on the sidewalk, plastic case roughened from the concrete, and Derek bends to pick it up. “Hey, did you-” he asks, looking up in time to see the boy spin around in a wide-eyed panic. “-drop this?”

The boy hurries forward, and scraped fingers brush across Derek’s palm as he grabs the inhaler. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Derek says, blinking in confusion as the boy turns back the way he’d come. Or, well, not the way he’d come, not at all, really, heading down the dead-end road instead of back towards town. “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”

The boy turns around, and his shoulders hunch even further as he jerks his head towards the trees beyond the road’s end. “I’m going to the park,” he says, voice oddly defiant.

Derek glances down the completely empty road, then up at the sky shifting from blue to blazing gold. “All by yourself?” he demands. “You’re, what, nine?”

“I’m _ten_ ,” the boy retorts, brows snapping together in an adorably ineffective glare. “So? You’re, what, thirteen?”

His ears abruptly burn, and Derek hopes that the boy doesn’t notice. He crosses his arms and mutters, “Twelve.”

“Oh.” The boy blinks, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You look old for your age.”

“You…don’t,” Derek says lamely. The boy snorts. “Sorry I made you fall over,” Derek adds. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I should’ve seen you there; it’s my fault,” the boy says with an easy shrug. He turns towards the park. “I should probably let you get back to work, sorry I interrupted-”

“I’m on my break.” He isn’t really sure why he says it. He doesn’t actually have breaks, after all, since his work at the shop mostly consists of ignoring his homework at the front desk and occasionally helping clean up dirt and leftover ribbons in the back room. But that’s _boring_ , and now that school is over he’s stuck with his _boring_ sisters all day. And this boy…is not his sisters. “Do you like milkshakes?”

The boy blinks, clearly thrown off. “…Um.”

“Because the diner makes the _bes_ t milkshakes,” Derek says quickly, pointing across the street. “Or, uh, if you don’t like milkshakes, their root beer floats are pretty good, too.”

The boy lights up for a brief moment, stepping forward eagerly…and then his entire body slumps. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Derek blurts, then notices the boy’s hand jammed tight in his pocket. Oh. “Uh, the milkshakes are really big,” he says. “I usually split one with my little sister when we get them. And it’s my fault I made you fall over, so – I kind of owe you a milkshake.”

“It’s not your fault I’m a klutz,” the boy says, but his shoulders relax. He grins up at Derek. “Okay, but next time I’m paying.”

“Deal!” Derek says eagerly – too eagerly, probably, but _next time_ means the boy might come back and maybe they’ll be friends and Mom won’t make Laura drag Derek along whenever she hangs out with her friends anymore. “What’s your favorite flavor?” he asks as the boy follows him across the street. “They can make, like, almost any flavor, even if it isn’t on the menu, so you can ask for anything you want.”

“Um.” The boy ducks his head. “I’m fine with – I like anything. What’s your favorite?”

“Blueberry,” Derek says, nodding firmly. “I know strawberry’s a classic, and they make that good, too, but their blueberry milkshakes are the _best_.”

The boy smiles. “I like blueberry.”

“Then you’re gonna love this,” Derek promises. “Oh, and, um, I’m Derek, by the way.”

“That’s a cool name,” the boy says, jogging ahead to open the diner’s door. He grins back at Derek, bright and glowing against the setting sun. “I’m Scott.”

 

Derek’s eyes light up as soon as Scott walks through the door, sliding out of his chair and hurrying out from behind the desk. “Scott!” he exclaims, beaming in excitement. “C’mere, I wanna show you something!”

“Okay-” He laughs as Derek seizes his hand and yanks him outside. “What’s going on?”

Derek grabs his shoulders and moves him in front of the shop’s first window. “What do you think?”

“About wha-” Scott blinks down at the new display table sitting behind the window. “…Whoa.”

A widespread arrangement sits on the table, bursting with so many flowers that Scott can’t recognize, no matter how many times Derek reminds him. They bloom just beyond the glass, round puffs of yellow-gold and star-shaped petals of blue, cream-white petals and tiny pink buds arranged in a way that makes Scott feel dizzy and calm all at once. The glass fogs up from his breath, and he hurriedly leans back from the window. He turns to see Derek staring at him, lip gnawed red between his teeth. “What do you think?” he asks, less excitedly than before and voice tight with nerves.

Scott looks back at the display. “I like it,” he says. “It’s like…when the sun sets in the summer and there’s, like, five different colors in the sky. Reminds me of that.”

Derek ducks his head, letting out a breath. “You really like it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Scott says, nodding as he follows Derek back inside the shop. “I wouldn’t just _say_ that just because you made it.”

Derek trips over his chair. “You knew I made it?”

He glances at the display, then back at Derek. “If that was your idea of being subtle…”

Derek shrugs, sitting back down behind the front desk. Scott drags over the stool from the shelves and sits next to him. “It’s new,” Derek says, nodding at the display. “I mean, obviously, but…anyway, now that I’m starting high school, Mom’s letting me make my own arrangements.”

“And actually letting people see them,” Scott adds, nudging Derek with a grin. “Instead of just keep them in the back room’s cooler so they don’t wilt before they get used for something else.”

“I’ve gotten better,” Derek mutters.

“You were always good,” Scott says. Derek looks up, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Really! I’ve always liked the little flower bunches you made for me. But I’m just saying…” He nods at the window. “Your experience shows.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “So diplomatic.”

“I try,” Scott says. He moves a pile of receipts out of the way and leans his elbows on the desk. “Hey, now that you’re making cool arrangements now-”

“I knew it, you thought my old ones weren’t cool.”

“-you should make one for me sometime.”

Derek blinks. “I make you arrangements all the time,” he says, brows creased in confusion.

“Not ones like _that_ ,” Scott says, pointing at the display table. “That one, like, I don’t know. Tells a story or whatever.” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.”

Derek watches him for a long moment, a tiny grin curving at the corner of his mouth. “C’mere,” he says, and hops out of his chair.

Scott follows him down the hall, through the back room, and into the greenhouse. “Man, it’s hot in here,” he says.

“It’s almost summer,” Derek says. He wanders up and down the aisles, plucking flowers seemingly at random before making his way back to Scott with a handful of blue flowers. He holds up the first sprig, sky-blue flowers sprinkled along a long-reaching stem with tufts of white at each center like a small cloud. “Delphinium, Pacific hybrid.” He shrugs. “Or just larkspur. Symbolizes lightness, levity, big-heartedness. And these are phloxes, for harmony. Blue hyacinths, constancy. And this is-”

“Forget-me-not,” Scott says, staring down at the blue petals and their bright yellow center. “I remember that one. You gave it to me last time I had to stay at my dad’s for the summer.”

Derek’s smile fades a little. “Do you have to stay there again this summer?” he asks.

“Yup.” He twirls a forget-me-not gloomily between his fingers, then looks up quickly. “He’s finally letting me take the bus by myself this year, though, so I can come visit whenever I want.”

“Oh.” Derek’s smile brightens. “Oh, good. You know, you could just hide out here all day if you want. Mom won’t mind.”

Scott smiles. “Thanks. I should probably try to spend quality time with him or whatever, though.”

“Probably,” Derek says, even though he doesn’t really sound like he agrees. He leans down and plucks a single flower from a nearby bed, then holds it out to Scott. “Here. Take this with you.”

Scott’s eyes widen at the flower dwarfing his hands with its tightly-clustered petals, sunshine yellow with veins of red seeping into its tips as gently as if each petal had been painted with a brush. “Wow,” he hears himself say, and then, “this doesn’t match the other flowers at all.”

Derek laughs. “It’s a dahlia. National flower of Mexico. And this one always kind of looked like a sun to me, so I thought…” He shrugs a little. “You could have your own little sun with you when you go to your dad’s house.”

He bites his lip. It’ll wilt after a few days. All the flowers in his hands will wilt, and then he’ll just have dried-out husks sitting in cloudy water while he counts down the days until he can go home. But…but for a few days, for those first days, for today, Derek gave him the sun. Scott smiles up at him. “Thank you. I…” He shakes his head, at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

Derek smiles and opens the greenhouse door. He picks up a spare length of ribbon from a work bench and ties it around the flowers with deft fingers, then hands them to Scott. “There’s a story for you.”

“Wow.” Scott turns the makeshift bouquet in his hands, marveling at the flowers spread out around the dahlia like a sun sitting high in the summer sky. It’s amazing, really, how quickly Derek had managed to put it together and still have it mean so much. He grins up at Derek. “I still want a big one one day, though.”

Derek looks down at the giant dahlia, then back at Scott, then laughs. “Okay,” he says, clapping Scott on the back and walking him to the front of the shop. “I’ll make one for you one day. I’ll plan it out and everything. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Scott says. He wiggles the forget-me-not at Derek. “I’m not gonna forget you said that. Even if it’s a decade from now, I’m gonna come back and bug you about it.”

“It won’t take me a decade to make a Scott McCall arrangement,” Derek says, rolling his eyes.

“I know. But just in case you forget, I won’t.”

Derek’s laughter follows him out of the shop and into the breezy spring air. He grins down at the flowers in his hands, starts walking back to the hospital – then pauses.

The shop next door has its door propped open for once, probably to take advantage of the late afternoon breeze. Scott pauses in front of the open doorway, trying to peer into the shop’s depths without staring too obviously.

“You lost, kid?” a voice asks, and then a young woman steps into view.

Scott jumps. Maybe he wasn’t so good at being subtle, either. “Uh, sorry,” he stutters out while the woman smiles around a bright ring pierced through her lip. “I wasn’t – didn’t mean to-”

“Marin, are you scaring the customers again?” a second voice asks. A man approaches the doorway, dark-skinned with a smoothly-shaven head. “I’m Deaton. You’re Melissa McCall’s son, right? Scott? I’ve seen you around the Hales’ shop before.” He smiles at the flowers in Scott’s hand. “Like today, I’d guess.”

He steps into the shop at Deaton’s gesture, craning his neck at the art lining all three walls and the tattoo machines further within. Something settles in him as he looks around, spreading tingling and warm just beneath his skin like it’s always belonged there. Like he’s always belonged _here_. He turns back to Deaton to see and the woman – Marin Morrell, he remembers Laura mentioning her more than a few times – grinning down at him. “How old are you, Scott McCall?” Morrell asks.

“Thirteen,” Scott says, standing a little straighter and trying not to look so young.

They glance at each other. “Well, Scott,” Deaton says, “If you come back here in two years and you still feel the same way you just did about this place, there’ll be a job waiting for you.”

“Seriously?” His entire face splits into a smile. He can’t wait to tell Mom and… “Can I start now?”

Deaton shakes his head. “Legally, we can’t hire you,” he says. “Two years, if you’re still interested by then.”

Scott steps through the doorway, then turns around one last time. “Can I come back?” he asks.

The pair grin at each other, then at Scott. Morrell says, “We’ll make sure to keep the door open for you.”

 

 

“I don’t get why I can’t visit you next door,” Derek says, scratching absently at the underside of the front desk.

The corner of Scott’s mouth quirks. “I just started working there,” he says. “I can’t be slacking already.”

He stops scratching the desk. “Oh. Right.” He quickly grabs a receipt from the pile and nudges the computer out of screensaver mode. “So, um, you like working there?”

“Yeah.” Scott spins around on the wobbly stool, his face cutting in and out of shadows cast across the desk by the bright afternoon sun. “Deaton’s really great, I’m learning a lot. And Morrell’s been giving me tips on my art, too.” He beams. “I really like it there.”

Derek nods. “Yeah, it’s really cool, with, like…needles…and stuff.”

Scott laughs. “You’re not a fan of tattoos?”

“It’s just…needles.” He twitches as a shudder runs through his body. “I’m not, like, _scared_ of them, I mean.”

“Derek Hale isn’t scared of anything,” Scott says with a loyal nod.

He nudges Scott with his shoulder while Scott laughs. “Shut up. It’s just…they’re permanent, you know?”

Scott blinks at him, lips twitching as he tries not to laugh. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

“But I mean, how do you _know?_ ” He shakes his head. “How do you know you’re going to want that for the rest of your life? What if you change your mind? They’re part of you _forever._ ”

Scott shrugs again. “That’s the point, you know? Like, you can’t undo things you do in life, and tattoos are the same way. You can cover them up, but that doesn’t change that they’re there.” He rubs his arm, smiling a little. “They’re already there. You just can’t see it yet.”

“Wow,” Derek says. “That was so deep.” Scott elbows him with a roll of his eyes. “But they’re just so problematic for real life. A lot of places wouldn’t hire you.”

Scott nudges him with his shoulder. “You’d hire me.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Scott’s mouth drops open in faux outrage. “You don’t know a thing about flowers, Scott.”

“I could drive the delivery truck after Laura leaves for law school,” Scott offers.

“You don’t have a driver’s license.”

“I have a permit.”

He laughs at Scott’s waggling eyebrows. “You’re ridiculous. Besides, I mean, so many people just…judge people for having tattoos. Like, there’s a lot of people in the world who wouldn’t date you if you got a tattoo.”

“Then I wouldn’t want to be dating those people in the first place,” Scott says cheerfully. He wilts a little, blinking down at the twisted metal wire in his hands. “…You don’t think Allison’s one of those people, do you?”

Derek glances surreptitiously down the hall, where Allison checks on the flowers in the greenhouse. “Nah,” he says. “I mean, her parents are totally stuck-up, but, I mean…” He shrugs. “She’s working _here_ , not at her parents’ shop.”

“They’re probably not too happy about that,” Scott says, biting his lip in concentration as he twists the wires. “Coming home with dirt under her nails instead of selling high-end jewelry all afternoon.”

Derek nods. “Yeah, I don’t know if they’re gonna let her work here for much longer. It’s a bummer. She’s a really fast learner, and I think she actually likes it here.” He watches Scott add more wire to the cluster, curving them into elegant outlines of petals that somehow seem to flutter in the breeze. “So you should make your move sooner than later.”

Scott lets out a snort of laughter. “It took you a _year_ to ask out Paige. You can’t really talk.”

“Yeah, but me and Paige have a lot in common.”

Scott glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He beams, chest filling with tingles as he thinks about his girlfriend. “I work with flowers, she plays the cello. Flowers and music totally go together. And we both love museums-”

“You hate museums,” Scott points out. “Last time Paige took you to one, you texted me the whole time about how bored you were.”

“I liked the Exploratorium when we went to San Francisco,” Derek says. Scott stares at him. “Okay, I love art museums, she loves history museums. Close enough.”

Scott turns back to his wire flowers with a smile. “And you both love classical music. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah.” Derek smiles. “We’re perfect for each other.”

Scott grins at him. “Your anniversary’s coming up soon, right?”

“One year in May,” he says, nodding. They’ve been together for so long; he can already tell that they’ll be together for the rest of their lives. They’ll go to college together, he’ll work here in the shop while she joins an orchestra, and they’ll get a house with a white picket fence and a dog. They’ll have a spring wedding, of course. He should probably ask Scott if he would be his best man.

“What’re you doing for the big day?” Scott asks. His eyes widen in excitement. “Hey, you should make her a bouquet!”

“Huh. Yeah, I should.” Derek sets down the last receipt, nodding to himself. He could use tulips, and red chrysanthemums, and roses – nothing says “love” like bright red roses. And then, to make the bouquet really _Paige_ …he taps the desk absently, trying to come up with flowers that remind him of her, then shrugs. He’ll think of them later. Of course he knows Paige’s favorite flowers; he just can’t remember them right now. “You’re really good at coming up with these kinds of ideas, Scott.”

“I’m just a total sap like that,” Scott says dryly. He holds up his completed wire bouquet, twirling it between his fingers. “What d’you think? You think Allison’ll like it?”

Derek leans closer, inspecting the trio of flowers. Scott replicated their shapes perfectly, the lilac’s curled edges and the prominent pistils of the stargazer lily. They even look alive, somehow, reaching weightlessly towards the sky despite being made of metal. The only thing missing, really, is… “Could you paint them?”

“Huh?” Scott peers down at the wires. “I guess I could spray-paint them.” He nods, hesitantly at first and then growing with excitement. “Yeah, like dull metallic colors with a gradient along the edges…” Derek nods along. He has no idea what Scott’s talking about. “…They wouldn’t look a thing like the real flowers, though.”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Derek says. “The real ones would die after a few days. But these-” He prods the tip of the daffodil gently with his finger. “-these’ll last forever.”

“Yeah.” Scott beams at the flowers, then looks up at Derek. “Is it too much?” he asks, biting his lip nervously.

He shakes his head. “Nah. And if she thinks it’s too much, then she doesn’t deserve you.” He shuts down the computer and slides out of the chair. “Let’s go get paint from the hardware store before it closes. I’ll tell Cora I’m heading out.”

“I’ll drive,” Scott says, grabbing Derek’s keys from the desk.

He snatches them back. “Not a chance.”

 

“…and you know, she always loved Mozart, and he has got to be _the_ most overrated composer in the history of music.” Derek trims a flower with a sharp yank of his stem stripper. Scott watches a shower of thorns and leaves fall to the ground, closely followed by the rose itself. Derek tosses the headless stem into the sink with a growl. “Good riddance.”

Scott reaches forward and carefully plucks the stem stripper from Derek’s too-tight grip. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, Beethoven is where it’s at, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Derek says, nodding vehemently. “And, you know, San Francisco is such an overrated city.”

Allison’s mouth opens, brows drawing together defensively. Scott quickly shakes his head at her over Derek’s shoulder, and she closes her mouth. “It’s so much better here,” she says instead. “Calmer.”

“Exactly.” Derek starts to strip another rose, then frowns down at his empty hand. “Hey.”

“You beheaded a rose, Derek,” Scott says. “Maybe take a break from trimming thorns?”

He glances between Scott and Allison, then rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go check on the greenhouse.”

Allison glances at Scott as Derek stomps past them into the greenhouse. A gust of air billows out across Scott’s face, stifling and even hotter than the summer air outside, before Derek slams the door behind him. “He’ll calm down…eventually,” Allison says. She carries a stack of empty flowerpots the sink, gesturing Scott closer while she runs the faucet. “What happened, exactly? I thought they were really happy together.”

“They were,” Scott says. He glances at Derek through the door’s window, turned away from the door with an angry curve to his spine. “But, you know…college. They both got accepted to UCBH; I think Derek thought she was going to go there with him.”

Allison hands Scott a clean pot to set on the drying rack. “She told me she was leaning towards USF months ago,” she says, frowning. “We went to San Francisco so I could show her around the city and everything.”

“She told me she applied there Early Action,” Scott says. He shrugs, toeing a clump of dirt on the linoleum floor. “I guess she didn’t tell Derek.”

Allison hands over the last pot, mouth twisting. “You know, something I’ve noticed about Derek is…when something’s going wrong for him, he doesn’t really let you know. He’ll just keep trying to make it work until…” She holds up the headless rose stem.

“Until it’s too late,” Scott finishes. He drops the stem into the compost bin with a sigh. “Yeah, he’s kind of stubborn like that.”

“Compromise is important,” Allison says, nodding. “It’s no good wearing yourself down to make someone else happy. Or, well, what you _think_ will make them happy.”

He nods, reaching up to brush a stray petal from his hair. “Oh, don’t let me forget to take out my earrings before I come over on Saturday.”

Allison shuts of the water with a frown. “I like your earrings.”

“Yeah, but your parents don’t.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care what they think.”

“I do.” He hands Allison a towel to wipe her hands. “Wanna go split a strawberry milkshake at the diner after your shift?”

“Or blueberry,” Allison says. “I know you like their blueberry milkshakes better, even though we always end up getting strawberry.”

“That’s because I like strawberry,” Scott says. He kisses her nose. “And I know you _love_ their strawberry milkshakes. So strawberry it is.”

Allison smiles and kisses him back. “Okay. Strawberry it is.”

 

Derek’s head jerks up when the shop door jingles open. He slumps back into his seat when Boyd steps through. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” Boyd says. He leans an elbow against the front desk. “Cora said you were being unbearable, so I thought I’d come by.”

“To rescue her from my unbearableness?”

Boyd shakes his head. “No, just to watch.”

Derek huffs. “I’m not being unbearable.”

“You’re unbearable anytime Scott isn’t here to make you nice,” Cora says as she steps out of the office. She leans against the front desk. “Now stop being mopey. The new girl’s gonna be here any minute.”

“I’m not being mopey,” Derek says.

Cora and Boyd exchange glances. “You didn’t even roll your eyes at my jokes when I brought by flowers from the farm this morning,” Boyd says. “It almost feels like _you_ broke up with Scott, not Allison.”

“No, more like he broke up with _Allison_ , not Scott,” Cora says. “Since he’s all mopey because he misses Scott.”

“Yeah, just like an ex going through the miserable regret stage of the breakup. So it wouldn’t be Allison, it’d be-”

“I didn’t break up with anyone,” Derek interrupts loudly. “They’ve just agreed to stay away from each other these first few weeks, and Allison works here, so…” He gestures around himself, then drops his hands. “Shop’s off-limits to Scott.”

Cora and Boyd glance at each other again. “You know, he _does_ work right next door,” Cora says. “You could just walk a few feet and go visit him. Allison’s not going to hold it against you if you hang out with your friend that you’ve known longer than she has.”

“He’s busy,” Derek mutters. They glance sidelong at each other. “Would you stop doing that?”

“See, that’s the anger stage of the breakup,” Boyd tells Cora. Derek opens his mouth to retort, and then the door opens with a cheery jingle.

“-and Danny from the used bookstore down the road lets you borrow books for free in exchange for marigolds. Laura used to bring some by every Friday,” Allison says as she holds the door open for a young blonde-haired girl. Her eyebrows lift in surprise when she sees the front desk. “Boyd! I didn’t know you were coming by!”

“Just happened to be in the area,” Boyd says, straightening as he holds out his hand. “You must be Erica.”

“Pleasure to meet you…Boyd?” Erica tries. “Vernon…the IV?”

“Just Boyd,” he replies, laughing.

Erica beams. “I love your family’s farm,” she gushes. “Me and my parents go apple picking there every fall. But…” Her head tilts. “I’ve met your entire family over the years, but I’ve never met _you_ until today.”

“Our Boyd is very shy,” Cora says, leaning up to clap Boyd on the shoulder. “He’s always hiding in his delivery truck so he never has to talk to people.”

Boyd glares at her; she smirks sunnily back at him. “I – well,” he says, smiling nervously at Erica. “I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”

“I bet we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now,” Erica replies. They beam at each other until Allison clears her throat.

“I was going to show Erica the back room and the greenhouse,” she says, nodding vaguely down the hallway. “Derek, did you want to…?”

“Oh, you’re Derek!” Erica shakes his hand quickly. “I wanted to thank you – and your whole family, really,” she adds, smiling at Cora, “for, um, for giving me a chance. A lot of places wouldn’t look at me because of my, um…” She toes the floor with a high-heeled boot. “…Medical history.”

“Well, you have a driver’s license,” Derek says, shrugging. “And Melissa McCall told us how you were always helping out the hospital florist. I think you’ll be a good fit here.” He stands up from the front desk and pushes his in chair, automatically walking around Scott’s stool before he remembers that it’s still tucked away under the shelves. “I’ll get the truck keys from the office,” he tells Allison. “I’ll meet you guys in the greenhouse.”

Erica glances over her shoulder as she follows Allison down the hallway. “I’ll see you later, Boyd!” she calls. “You too, Cora!” she adds belatedly.

Boyd waves with the biggest smile that Derek’s ever seen on him before. It fades abruptly when he looks at Derek. “What? I’m being friendly.”

“Sure, yeah, definitely,” Derek says, nodding easily. “Very friendly.” He turns to share a smirk with Scott, then blinks when he finds himself staring at thin air. “I’m, uh, gonna go catch up with them,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“They’re going to be okay, Derek,” Boyd calls as Derek ducks into the office. “It’s just going to take some time. Things’ll go back to normal eventually.”

He grabs the keys and heads further down the hall. Boyd’s wrong, of course. Things won’t go back to normal, not to the way they were before. They’ll just…change to a new normal. Derek just hopes it doesn’t change too much. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know.”

 

The needle’s buzz finally quiets, and Scott watches Deaton wipe down his tattoo. “Wow,” he breathes out, beaming at the two bands circling his arm. “It looks so good.” He grins up at Deaton. “Thank you so much.”

“I can already tell this is going to be the first of many,” Deaton says, smiling as he wraps Scott’s arm. He nods at the front door behind them. “And there’s your friend, right on schedule.”

“Did I miss it?” Stiles asks, skidding into the shop and grabbing the coatrack to keep from falling over. He frowns a little when he sees Deaton gathering up his equipment. “Aw, man. I wanted to see if you were gonna bleed.”

“And then you would’ve passed out,” Scott says, standing slowly. He walks to the full-length mirror and holds out his arm, grinning as the shop’s warm lights wink across the bands.

“I wouldn’t have,” Stiles protests. “Maybe. Probably.” He reaches out to poke the tattoo, and Scott swats his hand away. “That’s so cool. You’re gonna look so cool when we go back to school next month.”

Scott laughs. “Well, I-” He freezes as he looks through the windows to see Allison stepping out of the flower shop. “I’m gonna go – check the inventory!” he says quickly, and beats a hasty retreat to the back of the shop.

Stiles sighs as he follows Scott into the storage room. “You’re going to have to deal with seeing each other eventually, you know,” he says. “You’re _going_ to have classes together when senior year starts next week.”

“I know,” Scott says. He checks the needle packs, then leans against the shelf with a sigh. “I’m just…we agreed to keep our distance during the summer, and I’m doing that.”

Stiles nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to see her?” he asks.

He stares at the packs of gauze. “I don’t know.”

Stiles nods again. After a few minutes, he says, “I think I heard a car drive away. She should be gone by now.” Scott turns off the storage room’s light and follows him back to the reception. “You know, I think Derek misses you.”

Scott shrugs. “We still hang out on the weekends. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, but usually you’re always bothering each other at work,” Stiles says. “He actually said _hi_ to me on my way here today. He must really miss you if he’s actually saying hi to me.”

“He says hi to you all the time,” Scott says. Stiles makes a face. “Some of the time.”

“He says hi to me if he’s saying hi to you,” Stiles says. “There’s a difference. And…” He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s because I only ever go there to pick you up, but it felt weird walking by that place and not seeing you there.”

“I don’t actually work there, Stiles.”

“Sometimes it feels like you practically live there.” Stiles shrugs, grabbing his bag from the coatrack. “You ready to go?”

“Just a minute, Scott.”

Scott turns around slowly as Deaton steps out of the backroom. “Marin finally told me that she’s been training you for body piercing, even though you’re still seventeen.”

Scott glances at Stiles, who quietly slips outside to wait in the Jeep. “Uh,” he says, reluctantly turning back to Deaton. “Yeah.”

“I was wondering why she’d decided to get another earlobe piercing,” Deaton says, shaking his head. He sighs at Scott. “Well, it seems I have no choice.”

Scott holds his breath, bracing himself, and then Deaton says, “A friend of Marin’s is driving through tomorrow. I’ll be doing some simple retouching on her arm at eleven.”

“Braeden,” Scott says, nodding hesitantly. He remembers setting up the appointment several months ago. “From New York.”

Deaton nods impassively. “I want you there to observe.” Scott’s heart leaps. “And _only_ to observe, is that clear? Marin has her own methods of teaching, but you won’t be picking up a machine until at least next spring, _after_ your eighteenth birthday.”

Scott nods eagerly. “Yes, absolutely, understood.” He bites his lip as a smile cracks across his face. “Thank you, Deaton.”

Deaton smiles. “Take good care of that,” he says, nodding at Scott’s arm. “And make sure to get here early tomorrow. I want to walk you through setting up.”

“Yes, sir.” Deaton laughs and hands Scott his bag, waving him out of the shop. Scott stumbles across the street and into the parking lot, tripping his way into Stiles’ Jeep with shaking legs.

“So?” Stiles asks. “What’s the verdict?”

He lets out a long breath. “Deaton’s going to start training me tomorrow.”

Stiles whoops, whacking Scott’s arm in delight (and just barely missing his tattoo). “That’s awesome! See, I told you Morrell knew how to trick Deaton into training you early.”

Scott laughs. “I kinda thought I was about to get fired.”

“Nah, they love you.” Stiles starts the Jeep and backs out of the parking lot. “Anyone can tell you’re meant to be there, Scott. You’re going to be an amazing tattoo artist one day.”

Scott ducks his head, grinning down at the bands circling his arm. “Thanks, Stiles.”

 

 

Three months after Isaac Lahey starts working at the shop, he shows up one bright Saturday morning with a metal bar jammed through the top of his ear.

Allison sighs exasperatedly at Derek. “It’s called an industrial piercing, Derek,” she says. “Be nice.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were thinking it,” Allison replies. She props her elbows on the front desk and grins at Isaac. “Nice earring, Isaac!” she calls. “It looks great.”

“You like it?” Isaac asks, reaching up to touch the metal rod poking out either side of his left ear before quickly yanking his hand away. He shrugs, self-consciously with a tendril of defiance. “I just kind of…I saw it, and I wanted it, so…I got it.”

“It looks really good on you,” Allison says, nodding. “And not everyone can pull off that kind of earring – I mean, Derek would look terrible with that.”

“I’d look okay with that,” Derek says defensively, even as his shoulders creep up his neck at the thought of jamming several inches of solid metal through sensitive cartilage. “But she’s right, Isaac, it looks really good on you.”

“Thanks.” Isaac grabs a box from the office and starts stacking teddy bears on the shelves. He pokes the graduation cap sewn onto a curly-haired bear. “These are so cheesy.”

“Hey, those bears have been a saving grace for many an out-of-town relative looking for last-minute graduation presents,” Allison says. “I got three of them last year.”

“Yeah, I guess they’re more travel-friendly than flowers,” Isaac says. He frowns at the bear’s sash. “Hey, this has a typo – oh, Con _grad_ ulations, I get it, never mind.” He places the bear at the front of its row with a chuckle. “So what kind of flowers do people tend to get for this?”

“Carnations and roses are really popular, especially in BHHS’ red and white,” Derek says. He rotates an arrangement on the display table, frowns, then rotates it again until the sweet peas catch the early summer sun. “Sunflowers, too, and sometimes Bells of Ireland. Boyd’s family brings in extra orchids and plumerias for leis; there’s always a few families who want those every year. Oh, speaking of Boyd’s family.” He turns back to Isaac. “Don’t forget to tell him when we’re moving that futon into your apartment, so he can ask his dad to borrow his truck.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll text him during my break.” He stacks the last teddy bear and stares at the shelf for a long moment, clutching the empty box tight in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m graduating next week.”

“Make sure you don’t trip walking across the stage,” Derek says. “One of my friends did my year, and we still make fun of her for it.”

“Glad to hear college is really improving your maturity,” Allison says dryly. She turns back to Isaac. “Your last name’s Lahey, so that’s, like, right smack dab in the middle of the ceremony when everyone starts zoning out. I’ll make sure we cheer extra loud so everyone knows you have cool older friends. Derek, you should wear your leather jacket.” She nods decisively. “The formal one.”

Isaac raises an eyebrow. “You have a formal leather jacket?”

“No,” Derek says, at the same time that Allison pipes up, “It’s the one without mudstains caked into it.” He glares at her, then adds, “And I’m not wearing a leather jacket in _June_.”

“But then no one will believe that you’re cool,” Allison says. “Isaac’ll just have a bunch of losers cheering for him. My dad golf claps. Melissa McCall can only do so much.”

Isaac smiles at the name. “Yeah, she’s great. I owe her a lot,” he says. His eyes widen in excitement. “I should give her flowers at graduation!”

Derek and Allison glance at each other. “…You’re the one graduating,” Derek points out.

“So?” Isaac asks, shrugging. “…Oh, it’d be weird if I gave her flowers when Scott’s the one graduating, huh. I should give them both flowers.”

Allison shrugs at Derek. “Sure, if you want to,” she tells Isaac. “It’s your graduation. Why not?”

“Exactly,” Isaac says, nodding happily. He tosses the empty box between his hands. “I’m gonna take this out to the recycling, then I’ll start checking on the greenhouse.”

“I’ll meet you there in a few,” Allison says, standing up from her seat. She waits for Isaac to disappear down the hall and out the back door, then grabs the curly-haired bear from the shelf. “I’m gonna smuggle this guy home,” she tells Derek, carefully rearranging the bears to hide the gap. “He wouldn’t stop looking at it.”

“Let me see?” Derek takes the bear from Allison, eyeing the back of its graduation robe. “Keep it in the office for now. His lacrosse number’s fourteen, right?”

“Yup. You gonna sew it on the back like you did with Scott’s?”

“It makes it more personal,” Derek says, shrugging. He hands it back to Allison. “Means someone was really thinking about you.”

“Yeah.” Allison nods down at the bear. “Well, I’m gonna go hide this guy and then catch up with Isaac. You gonna be able to hold down the fort all by yourself?”

Derek glances around the completely empty shop, slowly warming as the sun climbs across the sky. “Well, it’s going to be tough,” he deadpans, “but I think I’ll be able to manage it.”

Allison snorts and heads for the office. “And you’re wearing the leather jacket next week!” she calls. Derek starts to protest, but she shuts the door firmly behind her. He shakes his head, slumping against the front desk with a long sigh.

Graduation. Isaac is graduating next week. And Erica. And Stiles. …And Scott.

Scott is graduating next week, and he’s flying across the country for freshman orientation at the art school of his dreams next month, and…Derek doesn’t know where he’s going to be next year. Or the year after that. He doesn’t know where _they’re_ going to be, staring across separate oceans with an entire country between them.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, and it terrifies him. Paige left, and he didn’t follow her. Now Scott’s leaving, and he isn’t following him, can’t follow him, can’t just yank up his entire world by the roots and cling to someone else like a dying vine. He doesn’t want everything to change, he doesn’t his world yanked up by the roots, he doesn’t want…he doesn’t…he doesn’t want to lose Scott.

He pushes the chair away from the desk and crouches behind it, staring at the initials carved deep into the wooden post. LH, DH, CH, AA, ER…he traces a finger across the shelf to the second post, grinning at the VBIV carved directly across from Erica’s initials. Isaac should be adding his own soon, maybe next week, maybe next month, whenever he feels settled enough to stay.

Derek grabs a pocket knife from the shelf and flicks out the blade. He pauses, staring back and forth between its sharp tip and the worn wood, then he leans in and starts carving.

No one can see the initials from a passing glance. They’re tucked around to the far side of the post, further hidden by the panels running down the desk’s sides. But as Derek brushes aside a few scant splinters and runs his fingers along the curve of the S and the M’s sharp angles, something in him settles. He can’t change what’s already happening, and he can’t control what’s going to happen next, but…in this small way, he can keep Scott here with him. Even just as nothing more than a memory carved into a wooden desk.

It’s enough.

 

Scott slows to a stop in front of the shop’s door. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to open the door, would probably push it open too eagerly, in fact, and then he’d have to pick up the bundle of sleigh bells and dried flowers that slide off the inside handle while Derek laughed at him. But now…it feels like an intrusion. It feels pointless, even, to barge inside when he’s the one who decided to leave. He hesitates in front of the shop, the late summer sunset burning down the back of his neck – and then nearly falls off the sidewalk in surprise when the door abruptly opens. Derek looks up, confusion melting away to a bright smile as he recognizes Scott. “Hey.”

Scott swallows, clutching the poster tube in his hands like a lifeline. “Hey. I, uh, I’m glad I caught you before you closed up.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches in a stilted attempt at a smile. “Well, you know I stay late on Wednesdays,” he says, turning to lock the door behind him. His eyebrows draw together when Scott doesn’t move, and he straightens with…resignation, it almost seems. “When does your flight leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Derek’s face closes for a moment, then he looks up with a smile that stretches too tight around his eyes. “So, New York, huh.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, except it falls out in something like a laugh, an edge too close to hysterical. “The big city.”

“Hey.” Derek’s hand closes over his, warm and solid and grounding as always. “You’re gonna love it there. It’s gonna be the best four years of your life, trust me.” He pauses. “Don’t let Stiles get too crazy out there, though.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, and this time the laugh doesn’t feel quite so frantic. “Yeah, we’re really looking forward to it.”

“Good.” Derek’s eyes soften, and Scott finds himself grinning back at Derek for what feels like an eternity. Then Derek blinks, clearing his throat abruptly as he shoves a hand into his pocket. “I, uh, got something for you,” he says. “Just a little…going-away present.”

“You didn’t have to,” Scott says as he stares at the small box in Derek’s hand. “I’m just-” His breath leaves him in a rush as Derek pries up the lid and his eyes fall on the ring inside. “…Derek.”

It’s white gold, gleaming in the summer sun as Derek tips it into his palm. Vines twist over each other in an endless loop, covered with leaves carved into delicate baubles – blossoms. Blueberry blossoms clustered all over the twisting band, the pointed edges of each flower unfurling in a minute star. “I saw it when I was in San Francisco and thought of you,” Derek says. “There was only one, and it was your size, so…” He shrugs, somewhat self-consciously. “It was like it was meant to be yours.”

“There’s no such thing as fate,” Scott mumbles, but his face heats in a too-bright smile as he slides the ring onto his finger. “This is way cooler than a class ring.” He blinks. “Wait, how’d you know my ring size?”

“Stiles,” Derek says with an easy shrug.

“Oh, right.” Scott nods, still grinning down at the ring, then remembers the poster tube tucked under his arm. “Oh! I got you something, too.”

“ _You’re_ the one leaving,” Derek says, laughing a little as Scott opens the tube.

“Yeah, well, I mean, I just – I just made it, so it’s really not much, but, um.” He feels more than a little stupid as he unrolls the painting. Derek gave him a beautifully crafted and probably expensive piece of metalwork, and Scott…has an arts and crafts project for him. Great. “It’s. Yeah.”

Derek stares down at the painting, mouth falling open just slightly. “You _made_ this?” he asks, not looking up from the paper as his hand traces the air over each petal. He opens his mouth as if to continue, but instead shakes his head with a swallow.

“Um, yeah,” Scott says. He rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously, and the ring bumps warm and firm over his skin. “They’re-”

“Forget-me-nots.”

Scott drops his hand. “Yeah.” He laughs a little, too loud and strained in the quiet air. “Really on-the-nose, but, um, I…”

“I love it.”

He rocks back on his heels. “Really?”

Something in his voice prompts Derek to finally look up. “Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows drawing together. “Scott, you – you _made_ this. You _made_ this, and you’re _giving_ it to me, and…it’s…”

“It’s nothing like this,” Scott says, spinning the ring on his finger.

“I didn’t make that,” Derek says. He points down at the painting. “This came from you, and that’s amazing.” He ducks his head with a laugh. “See, this is why you’re going to love New York. You’re so talented, and you’re just going to get even better. You’re amazing, Scott.”

He stares down at the cracked sidewalk, cheeks burning under setting sun. “Thanks.”

Derek’s shoulders slump. “You’re not coming back, are you.”

His head flies up. “Of course I am. This is my home,” Scott says, but his voice sounds uncertain even to his own ears.

Derek picks up on it, nodding as his smile fades into a forced imitation. “You’ll probably end up liking the city better. There’s just so much more there.”

“No, I…” He trails off. Derek’s right, or maybe he’s wrong, but the truth is that Scott won’t actually know until he’s there. He slumps. “I won’t be able to fly back much,” he says. “I’ll try for the holidays, but…I don’t know.”

Derek nods, unsurprised. “Well,” he says, with a bold attempt at levity, “I definitely won’t forget you.” He points at the painting. “’Cause of the, y’know, forget-me-nots.” Scott stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows slowly rising on his forehead, and then they both burst into laughter. “That was terrible,” Derek admits. “I tried.”

“You tried,” Scott agrees with a snort. He slowly catches his breath, clutching the ring around his finger. “I’m really going to miss you, Derek,” he says. “I…”

Derek stares back at him, and something coils tense and desperate between their eyes. “You what?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

He surges forward and presses his lips to Derek’s. His mind flies into a panic almost immediately, but Derek’s hand grips the back of his neck before he can pull away. Derek kisses him back gently, stubble scraping over Scott’s skin like tiny pinpricks. Scott braces his hands on Derek’s chest as he leans in closer, presses tighter, eyes squeezed shut as Derek cradles his face and he hopes, longs, wishes that this moment could last forever.

They draw back slowly, breaths echoing loud and harsh through the quiet air while Scott’s heart hammers in his chest. He swallows heavily as he finds his footing again. “I have to go,” he whispers, and the moment shatters like a bullet through glass. Derek straightens with a stiff nod, and Scott turns back towards the road.

“Scott?”

He freezes. Derek’s gripping the painting when he looks back, clutched so carefully in his hands but his arms as tense as steel. Derek takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Take care.”

A smile cracks its way past the corners of his mouth. Scott lifts his hand, spinning the ring on his finger. “Blueberries,” he says. “Protection. I already have it.”

Derek smiles, small and broken, and his head drops down to the painting in his hands. Scott turns away again, heads down the empty road leading back to town and the rest of the world, and the setting sun shines bright and blinding in his eyes as he finally leaves the shop.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first of the cyclamens unfurl for the winter, muted pink petals lined in frosty white, and the shop’s windows grow colder and darker with every passing day. Derek tucks his jacket tighter around him as he unlocks the door to the shop, then pauses when the shop next door doesn’t look quite right. His keys fall back into his pocket, and he tilts his head at the shop for a long moment before heading next door.

The windows are dark and bare, no glowing lights or signs in sight. It’s almost ominous in the wan morning light, and Derek shivers as he pushes the door open. “Hello?”

The inside is just as bare as its windows, blank walls tinged gray in the darkness and the stations nothing more than bare tables. “Derek!” Deaton calls, appearing from the back room with a box folded shut. He sets it down on the front desk – buffed clean and painted over in slick black, not a single sticker or badly-carved initial in sight. “I didn’t think I’d see you today. Doesn’t Cora usually open on Mondays?”

“Yeah, but she’s in the middle of finals week, so I thought I’d…” Derek begins absently, then shakes his head. He turns slowly in the studio, shoes squeaking on the hard linoleum. “How come you’re closing?”

“Felt like time for a break,” Deaton says with an easy shrug. “I’m renting out the place for now. A couple of young artists will be hosting exhibitions here in the spring. Metal and glass sculptures, I think.” His eyes crinkle in a grin. “That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I – yeah,” Derek says. His voice rings out flat and hollow against the empty walls, and he feels…itchy, almost. The darkness, the emptiness, the complete disappearance of everything he’d gotten used to seeing his entire life – it makes his skin crawl.

Deaton pats his shoulder. “Nothing lasts forever, Derek,” he says, and picks up the box again.

“Yeah,” Derek says faintly as he follows Deaton out the door. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“Have you gone to see the exhibition next door?” Isaac asks. He’s the perfect picture of badly feigned nonchalance, from his raised eyebrows all the way down to the stem stripper in his loose grasp. He picks up a rose, strips its stem, and reaches for another. “It’s pretty interesting. Some really neat sculptures.”

Derek frowns at the arrangement in front of him. The zinnias are all wrong, but the arrangement is missing something without them. “Haven’t had time,” he says. “You know how busy summer is.”

“Yeah, but, I mean.” Isaac shrugs and tucks the stem stripper into his pocket. “Everyone’s back for the summer, so we can shuffle around shifts, and-”

Derek sighs and takes out the zinnias. “If you wanted to take a day off, Isaac, all you have to do is ask.”

Isaac blinks owlishly at him. “I already did,” he says. “After Cora’s last final. I’m talking about _you_ , Derek, and I know I’m still the new guy, but-”

The bells on the door chime. “Oh, no, he’s always this bad,” Allison says as she tosses her bag into the office. She flashes Derek a humorless smirk. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t even take lunch breaks anymore.”

“I eat lunch.”

Allison makes a face. “If scarfing down a sandwich in the time it takes Isaac to put together a corsage counts, sure.”

“Hey, I’m getting faster-” Isaac begins defensively, then grins. “Oh. Oh, that was a compliment! Thanks!”

Derek glares at Allison as she grabs the broom. “Remind me why I haven’t fired you yet?”

“Because, boss,” Allison says with a sunny grin, “You know how busy summer is.” She starts sweeping up the mess around Isaac. “And the exhibition next door’s actually really cool. Really talented artists. You should check it out.”

“You just want me out of here so you can run this place into the ground.”

“Oh no, he’s on to us,” Allison deadpans to Isaac. “I know it’s weird not seeing the tattoo shop there anymore, but…” She shrugs. “Things change. Where’s Deaton now?”

“Japan, I think,” Derek says. “He and my mom went to the cherry blossom festival.”

“Ooh, romantic,” Isaac says, tongue between his teeth as he carefully strips thorns from a rose. “Sounds like things are heating up.” He quails a little under Derek’s glare, then his eyes widen at something in the window. “I’m gonna go say hi to Melissa McCall! Be right back!”

Derek sighs as Isaac rushes out the side door, yellow rose in hand. “Remind me why-”

Isaac flings the door open with a harsh jangle. “Oh, and you’re missing scarlet pimpernels in that arrangement,” he adds, then disappears down the sidewalk.

Derek blinks down at his nearly finished arrangement. Isaac’s completely right. “And that’s why you haven’t fired _him_ yet,” Allison says. She puts away the broom and heads for the front desk. “I’ll check Erica’s next batch of deliveries,” she says as she turns on the monitor. “You should take a lunch break. Or five.”

The air settles around him like a warm blanket of sunshine and fresh grass. Seasons change, just like everything else; he’ll adjust to this one soon enough. “I’m going to go check on the greenhouse.”

“You’re gonna get heatstroke in those long sleeves,” Allison calls. “Then Isaac’ll have to chase down Melissa McCall for a medical emergency.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek says. He doesn’t turn back to face Allison for a proper retort, because facing Allison means facing the front desk means facing the painted forget-me-nots hanging right behind it. He shakes his head and shuts the door behind him.

 

The art exhibition closes down, and a shiny jewelry store takes its place just in time for the holidays. “Allison isn’t going to like this,” Boyd notes one particularly crisp morning while Derek inspects his poinsettias.

Cora snorts from somewhere beneath her three coats and two scarves. “Are you kidding me? She’ll think it’s hilarious.”

Derek doesn’t think it’s hilarious, not at all. The store is so determinedly bright, the walls painted a warm beige with extra lights installed in the ceiling and even more lining the windows. It’s so shiny, so sparkling, so dazzling that it makes Derek grit his teeth whenever he sets foot in it.

(Erica had insisted that he go over and introduce himself this time, and he’s sure that J – Jennifer? Julia? – is a perfectly lovely woman, but the lights and the walls and her impeccable smile had him beating a hasty retreat before Cora could even accept one of her homemade cookies. The gumdrops looked like mistletoe, anyway. Mistletoe has a time and a place, and anything resembling food certainly isn’t one of them.)

Maybe it’s all the gleaming metal and shimmering jewels resting on polished glass displays, but the shop next door feels cold, somehow. “It’s the TV fireplace,” Isaac says with a sage nod. “Nothing makes you feel cold like a TV fireplace.”

The jewelry store does end up drawing more customers to their shop, though. Winter is usually a quieter, colder time for them, but this season, the shop fills up with customers flitting in and out. Roses to pair with shiny new engagement rings. A placating bouquet to smooth over a necklace at Christmas. Holly and mistletoe. So many sprigs of mistletoe.

Erica brings in leftover cookies from her and Boyd’s gingerbread house project – Boyd shows Derek pictures, it looks like a finely constructed mansion and completely inedible – and their small stream of customers love it. They love it even more when Boyd brings homemade apple cider in the evening.

“This is nice,” Isaac says, propping his feet up on the front desk for a split second before Derek bats down his dirt-caked soles. He crunches obnoxiously on a candy cane. “Much cozier than last year.”

Derek sweeps the floor one last time and locks the supply closet. “Yeah, it was,” he says. “I’ll close up. You should head home before it gets too dark.”

Isaac nods at the pitch-black sky outside, faintly illuminated by the few streetlamps lining the dead-end road. “Yeah,” he drawls. “It’s definitely gonna get darker out there.”

Derek leans against the counter. “You want a ride home?”

“Nah.” Isaac shakes his head, climbing gingerly to his feet. “I can waste some time taking the scenic route. I’m not meeting up with Melissa McCall until after her shift at the hospital, so it’s not like I have to wake up early tomorrow.” He jams the candy cane into his mouth. “Doesn’t take long to make dinner for two people.”

It’s the night before Christmas Eve. Tomorrow, Derek has to finish wrapping his sisters’ gifts – well, first, he has to find his Christmas wrapping paper – and then he has to actually put on the truly hideous Christmas sweater that Mom had sent him before he drives over to his childhood home. And Isaac and Melissa McCall…Derek fiddles with his hands, remembering how he’d run into Sheriff Stilinski on his way to the airport a few days ago. “I have a bunch of food in my fridge that’s about to go bad,” he hears himself say. “Wanna help me eat it?”

Isaac’s jaw snaps shut, bisecting the candy cane with a sharp crunch. He swallows hard, stares at Derek for a long moment, then shrugs. “Sure,” he says, grabbing his coat. “Nothing weird about a couple of grown-ass men eating nearly-expired food in the middle of the night.”

“It’s only nine.”

“You start munching now, Derek, you know you’re gonna be munching all night.” Isaac shivers dramatically as he shuts the shop door, then shivers for real and drops the keys. Derek lets Isaac fumble with the lock for a few minutes while he sends a quick text to his mom to make space for two extra place settings tomorrow. And maybe dig up some spare ugly Christmas sweaters.

 

“…and these are the ones Isaac and I make.”

Derek carries a vase of Carolina jessamines into the front room, then pauses when he sees Allison showing a woman around the shop. A light springtime breeze blows through the open door, stirring her hair to gleam under the afternoon sun. “The displays change every week, so if you like them then – oh, hi, Derek!” Allison grins when she sees Derek, hurrying over to help him carry the arrangement to the table. “Come meet Braeden. My dad’s selling some of her works downtown.”

He sets down the jessamines and shakes Braeden’s hand. “Works?”

“Jewelry! She’s _amazing_ ,” Allison says, nudging her with an elbow. “Derek, you remember that exhibition next door that you never had time to go to?”

“Yeah, I know, I met Jordan Parrish during graduation,” Derek says, nodding at the custom glass vases on their novelty shelf.

Allison smirks. “Yeah, well, the metal sculptures that Parrish shared the exhibition with were hers.”

“Oh.” Derek straightens. “Um. I-”

Braeden laughs. “Jeez, Allison, stop making him nervous. Besides, it’s not like I ever had time to visit this shop then, either. I don’t really know much about…” She glances around the shop with a somewhat uncertain smile. “…flowers.”

Allison glances between them. “I’ll go check on the greenhouse!” she chirps, and darts into the back room before they can react.

Braeden turns back to Derek. “So what-” she begins, and then abruptly breaks off into a sneeze. “Sorry,” she says quickly. “Hayfever.”

Derek smiles.

 

Erica leans over the front desk. “Derek, I need a delivery assistant,” she says.

Derek nods absently at his computer. “Okay?”

She nods. “And I know how much you hate interviews, so I already hired one.”

His head jerks up. “ _What?_ ”

“Relax, Cora interviewed her and everything,” Erica says, patting his head. “I think she’s your cousin, actually? Malia?”

Derek frowns. “I don’t have a cousin named Malia.”

“Yeah, she said that about you, too,” Erica says, making a face at him. “But Cora said she thinks she remembers her from a family reunion, so…” She shrugs. “She just moved here, so I’m taking her to Boyd’s farm after work. You wanna come? Get to know your new employee?”

“I can’t.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “You _are_ going to have to meet her eventually, you know.”

“No, I really can’t. Any time tomorrow’s great, but I have-” His mouth snaps shut as his ears abruptly heat, and he finishes under his breath, “…a date.”

Erica’s mouth falls open before breaking into a beaming smile. “Good for you!” she crows, smacking him in the arm. “What are you going to wear? Where are you taking them? Who asked who?”

Derek resists the urge to hide under the desk. “This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“Aw, _come on!_ ” Erica whines. Her eyes brighten. “Now you can go on double dates with me and Boyd!”

That’s it. Derek stands and beats a retreat to the back room. It’s close enough to closing time, anyway, and he’ll hear anyone who walks in. “No.”

“De- _rek_ ,” Erica calls, stomping after him. She leans in the doorway, lips curved in a mischievous grin while Derek sweeps the floor. “It’s Braeden, isn’t it?”

He sighs. “If I answer that, will you leave me alone?”

“Scout’s honor,” Erica says, holding up her hand.

Derek rolls his eyes, sighs again, then says, “Yes. It’s Braeden.”

Erica squeaks in excitement, skipping forward to smack a kiss on his cheek. “I want to hear _all_ about it tomorrow!” she calls as she dances out the door. “And I’m bringing Malia, too, so be nice!”

Derek shakes his head as he goes back to sweeping. The clock ticks steadily behind him. Twenty more minutes until closing, and then he has to hurry home and change and wash Erica’s lipstick smear off his face and—

He smiles, ducking his head while his cheeks pool with warmth. He has a _date_.

 

Malia bursts through the door, her long hair bouncing in the scant summer breeze. “I’m back!”

“We all wore black and mourned while you were gone,” Cora deadpans from the front desk. Derek shakes his head and carries a pot of bouvardias to the back room while Malia leans on the desk and immediately begins chronicling her trip to New York.

“-you really should’ve come, Derek!” he hears as he steps back into the front room. Malia bounces on her toes. “I mean, you would’ve been a giant baby about the humidity, but Kira took us to see these _amazing_ gardens. You would’ve loved them.”

He blinks. “Who’s Kira?”

“Noshiko Yukimura’s daughter.”

“Right,” Derek says, nodding slowly. “Noshiko…Yukimura.”

Malia sighs in exasperation. “Deaton’s friend. The tattoo artist? The one he went to New York to visit in the first place?” Derek blinks, and Malia sighs again. “Forget it. But _Cora_ ,” she says, swinging back to the front desk. “She’s _amazing_. If you ever decide on a tattoo, you should get it done by her. I’m sure Deaton can hook you up with an appointment.”

“Isn’t she retiring soon?” Cora asks without looking up from the computer. Derek had no idea that she kept track of Deaton’s tattoo friends. “Did she do yours?”

Derek sets down a chrysanthemum arrangement with a frown. “Malia doesn’t have any tattoos,” he says slowly.

Cora glances up from the computer just long enough to stare at Derek with utter disdain. “She’s wearing a skirt,” Allison says. “Malia never wears skirts unless she has to.”

Malia grins back and forth between them. “Well, now that you brought it up!” she says cheerily, and then swings her leg up onto the front desk, pulling back her skirt to reveal a coyote sitting at the top of her thigh. “Kira took us by the shop, and their apprentice was working on a sketch I just _knew_ I had to have,” Malia continues, blithely ignoring Derek’s groan of dismay and hasty glance towards the broad shop windows. “And since he’s still practicing, I got it for free!”

“Whoa.” Cora cranes over the front desk to peer down at the coyote. “That’s _really_ good.”

“Right?” Malia grins. “He’s so talented. I can’t wait to check up on him in a few years; he’s going to be _so_ amazing.”

“Awesome,” Derek says absently, squinting down at the coyote. It’s beautiful, of course, but the thought of something trapped with him forever makes his skin crawl.

Malia seems to notice his discomfort, since she drops her leg from the desk and leans in closer. “Y’know, if you ever wanted to get one, I think you’d like him. Really sweet guy. We talked the whole time; it barely even hurt. I swear his hands are magic.”

Derek smiles blandly and carries the chrysanthemums to the back room. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door jingles as he returns to the front room, and Erica barrels in to spin Malia in a hug. “Let me see it!” she chirps, quickly handing her delivery receipts to Cora.

Cora lifts a folded piece of stationery paper from the pile with a frown. “What’s this?” she asks, then leans further away from it with a disgruntled snort. “It’s scented.”

Erica hastily snatches back the paper. “Oops! That one’s from Derek’s special delivery.” She winks exaggeratedly at Cora. “ _Downtown_.”

Allison sniffs at the air that Cora wafts away from her nose. “Smells like that new perfume Dad’s trying out at his store,” she says, smirking at Derek. “I take it the delivery went well?”

“She loved it,” Erica says, handing Derek the paper with a sigh. “Personally, I thought the tulips were a bit much, but she thought it was adorable.”

Derek smiles down at the folded paper with his name printed in Braeden’s neat handwriting. He tucks it into his pocket and reaches for a vase of red-and-white striped carnations. “Thanks, Erica.”

“It was really cute watching her blush, actually,” Erica says happily, then turns back to Malia. “Okay, let me see it!” Malia pulls back her skirt, and Erica’s eyes bug as she crouches for a closer look. “ _Whoa_. Is that Deaton’s work?”

“Nope,” Malia says, dropping her skirt with a grin. “One of Noshiko Yukimura’s apprentices. I think he said he used to work at Deaton’s shop, though.”

Derek nearly drops the carnations. “Really?” Allison asks, eyebrows disappearing into her hair.

“Yeah.” Malia nods. “He said it was a while ago, so I wasn’t sure if any of you would’ve known him. His name was, uh.” She chews her lip for a moment. “Scott, I think? Yeah. Scott McCall.”

Erica grabs Derek’s vase before it slides off the table. “You know him?” Malia asks, blinking between them.

“Um,” Allison says, glancing at Derek. “Sort of. In high school and stuff, but…haven’t really heard from him in a few years.”

Derek nods, abruptly regretful and yet immensely glad that he hadn’t gone with Malia and Morrell to New York. He could’ve seen…but he didn’t…and he doesn’t know if he really wants to, anymore. “Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat when the word comes out hoarse. “I’m gonna,” he mumbles, then grabs the carnations and beats a hasty retreat to the back room.

Down the hall, he hears Malia ask, “Was it something I said?”

 

Braeden swirls her straw round and round in her smoothie. It drags lethargically through the liquid, powdered mix melting into cloudy juice with pulpy fruit sinking to the bottom. “Derek,” she says slowly, and glances around the shop’s interior.

The cheery pink walls of the stationery shop have been replaced with garishly green paint and bright stencils of sliced fruit. The scent of syrup wafts through the air, thick and cloying against the crisp autumn breeze blowing through the open door. The girl at the cashier flashes Derek a wilting smile before she turns away to fill another blender. “They make better milkshakes at the diner across the street,” Derek says quietly.

The corner of Braeden’s mouth quirks, disappointed and resigned all at once. “These are smoothies.”

“Yeah, but…” He shrugs.

Braeden takes a sip of her smoothie, then grimaces and stirs it some more. The mushy fruit make a valiant effort of spinning back into the rest of the smoothie before sliding back down to the bottom of the cup. “I don’t think this is working,” she says.

“Yeah,” Derek says, frowning at the smoothie in his hand. The shop had done well enough in the summer, but its initial stream of customers seems to drop off more and more each passing week. Winter’s going to be rough for the shop. He doubts it’ll be here next year.

Braeden follows his gaze. “No, Derek, not the smoothie – well.” She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that too, I guess, but…Derek, I don’t think _we’re_ working.”

The smoothie slips from his grasp. Its lid bursts open immediately, splashing purple liquid all over the table and down to the floor. He quickly grabs a handful of napkins in a feeble attempt to mop up the mess. “Oh.”

Braeden drops more napkins onto the floor. “I just don’t feel like we’re going anywhere,” she says, more to the gloppy mess staining the off-white tiles than to Derek. “I don’t think…”

He steps back as the girl from the cashier hurries over with a mop and bucket, waving away his apologies. Braeden tilts her head, and they slowly retreat out the door. The sun shines blinding in his face while the chill air cuts through his jacket like paper. Derek waffles between shading his eyes or hugging his arms, then settles for jamming his hands into his pockets. “We’re too different,” he says.

“No, it’s not that,” Braeden says. “I mean, we _are_ , but…it’s more that we don’t want the same things.” She sighs. “I…it’s like we’re not moving forward anymore, you know? And I’m just looking for something more… _more_.”

“More permanent.” He slowly crunches a brittle leaf beneath his shoe. “I understand.”

Braeden reaches out and squeezes his hand, one last time. “I still think you’re really great, Derek.”

“Yeah.” He looks up at her and squeezes back. “I think you’re really great, too, Braeden.”

 

The sun shines high in the sky as Derek unlocks the back door, moving from air laden heavy with pollen and sharp grass to the greenhouse’s cozy interior. He takes his time wandering through the rows, sipping absently at his thermos while he inspects the flowers and waits to wake up. Boyd won’t be here with his delivery for at least another half hour, so Derek can take his time moseying his way to alertness.

It still takes him a long ten minutes of staring blankly at the yarrows before he realizes that he’d left his breakfast in the car. He blinks, drinks more coffee in a vain attempt to boost more caffeine into his system, then finally unlocks the shop’s front door.

The residents of the neighboring shop seem to have finally shown up, its glass door wedged open and cheery lights spilling out to illuminate _Anchor Tattoos_ painted across the windows in bright colors. Derek nods a hello at a dark-haired woman carrying in a large box. It looks heavy, and she seems a little out of breath from the hot morning air, so he grabs his breakfast from the car before doubling back to properly greet the new neighbors. “Hi!” he says, mustering up as much caffeinated energy as he can while the woman steps out of the shop. “I’m Derek. I own the flower shop next door.”

“Oh!” the woman exclaims, mouth curving into a bright smile as she shakes his hand eagerly. “You’re the Derek Hale from Hale Flowers! I’m Kira, I own…” She gestures at the mostly-empty shop behind her. “…this.”

“It looks great,” Derek says. Kira snorts. “Really, though, I’m glad you’re here. We haven’t had a tattoo shop since-”

“Alan Deaton,” Kira finishes, nodding. “I mean, when I found out he was renting out his old space, how could you _not_ , you know? Actually…” She pulls aside her jacket to show off a tattoo at the base of her ribs – a _shuriken_ , his mind supplies, smooth and black with each tip sloping the star into a gentle spiral. “I got this from him when he came to New York a few years ago. I’ve heard so much about him, but man, he’s _amazing_.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding down at the _shuriken_. The exuberant glee in her voice seems all too familiar, too close to a different face eagerly showing off Deaton’s work some four years past. “Yeah, Deaton’s great.”

Kira smooths down her crop top neatly. “I mean, my partner basically never shuts up about you and – hey!” She turns abruptly and waves into the shop. “Derek’s here!”

Derek turns to the door, eyes sliding to a familiar-looking double circle painted on the glass as a dark-haired man steps past it. “Hi, I’m-” he begins, then he finally sees the man’s face and his voice abruptly dies in his throat.

Scott smiles hesitantly, gaze dropping to Derek’s limp hands before flicking back up to meet his eyes. “Hi, Derek.”

Kira glances between them. “Uh, I’m gonna get more coffee!” she chirps, and all but flees down the road while Derek gapes at Scott.

He looks – he looks _good_. His lanky frame is filled out, taller and broader and perfectly filling out a simple t-shirt instead of burying under too-loose layers like before. His wavy mop of hair is gone, trimmed neatly and impossibly darker atop a face carved smooth and sharp all at once. There’s an easy confidence to him, now, blooming out of him as naturally as the sun wrapped around his silhouette. Derek’s eyes drop to his arm, the familiar black bands wrapping around a now-bulging bicep, and he finally remembers to take a breath. “Deaton never said _you_ bought the place,” he hears himself say.

Scott laughs, eyes crinkling as warmly as ever. “Does Deaton ever really tell you anything?” he asks, and there it is. A tendril of the familiar unfurling, digging deep to long years past. Of course he knows Scott. He’s always known Scott; a few years wouldn’t change that.

He shakes his head softly as his own face curls into an easy smile. “Good point,” he says, opening his mouth to continue, to ask, to say, to – he doesn’t know. His smile freezes in place, suddenly too tight as he finds himself at a complete loss for words. He – he doesn’t even know where to begin.

No, not _begin_. There is no _begin_ with Scott, there’s just picking up where they left off, and all Derek needs to do is find it again. But as the silence stretches between them and the warmth from Scott’s eyes fades into strain, maybe finding it again isn’t as simple as he’d thought.

Scott’s stomach lets out a loud gurgle, and the growing tension abruptly snaps. “Sorry,” Scott says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly while a laugh barks its way out of Derek’s lungs. “We wanted to move the heavier stuff in before it started getting really hot, so we kind of…forgot about breakfast.”

“Oh,” Derek says, and blinks down at the muffin in his hand. “Wanna split a muffin? It’s blueberry, and that’s your favorite-”

“-just like yours,” Scott finishes. He accepts the muffin half with a quietly pleased smile, voice faint and surprised. “You remembered.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “One of the only things we had in common.”

Scott looks down, laughing a little as he tears off a piece of the muffin. “Yeah, that’s true,” he says. He looks back up at Derek and pauses for a long moment. “You look good, Derek,” he says finally. “Happy.”

Derek’s heart hammers into his throat. “You, too,” he manages, and swallows down his nerves when Scott beams brighter than the morning sun. “I’m glad you came back.”

Scott pops the last of the muffin into his mouth, and the ring on his finger blazes as it catches the sunlight. Shining metal. White gold. Blueberries bursting in Derek’s mind like the baked fruit grinding to paste in his mouth. Then Scott’s hand falls away, and Derek finds himself staring into Scott’s eyes instead. “Me, too.”

 

 

He doesn’t even know where to begin.

He doesn’t know what he expected, really. That he’d move back to Beacon Hills, and his apartment (in a brand-new building sitting atop what had been grassy forest the last time he’d left) would feel as welcoming as his mother’s house? That he’d open a business in the first place that had ever offered him a job, and it’d feel like where he belonged? That he’d return to a town he’d never felt quite settled in, and it would finally feel like home?

It’s stupid. He’s being stupid, he knows, but when he’d seen Derek again…just for a moment, Scott had hoped that all the missing pieces from four years past would fall right into place and things would be just like before. But nothing’s like it used to be ( _they’re_ nothing like they used to be), and he doesn’t…he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Scott flips the switch for the main lights and steps back, drawing in a deep breath as the shop slowly fills with light. It doesn’t feel as empty as he’d feared. It feels…Scott lets out a sigh. He doesn’t even know how it feels.

Kira beams next to him. “We did it, business partner!” she chirps, and leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “This is perfect for us, Scott. I think I’m really starting to like it here.”

“Not missing the big city?”

Kira shrugs. “It’s calmer here. I like that. Besides, it’s like everyone knows everyone here, like one big community. I mean, I don’t think we’ve met _anyone_ yet who doesn’t remember little Scotty McCall.”

Scott ducks away as she ruffles his hair with a teasing smirk. “No one ever called me Scotty McCall. Don’t listen to Stiles.”

“About what?” Stiles demands, pushing open the front door. “Don’t listen to him, Kira. Whatever it is, he’s lying.”

“Yeah, because you’re definitely the honest one out of all of us,” Lydia snorts from behind him. “So! Are we going to go meet the neighbors or what?”

Scott blinks down at the giant basket clasped in her hands. “What is that?”

“Well, it’s a _flower_ shop; we couldn’t exactly bring them flowers,” Lydia says. “So I thought we could give them an edible arrangement instead. I mean, who doesn’t like fruit?”

“Where’d you get it?”

Lydia glances at Stiles. “There’s, uh,” Stiles says, and steps closer. “That place in Old Downtown, it opened, uh, I think a year and a half ago? On Sacramento Street?”

“Oh.” Scott looks back at the arrangement and the brightly colored business card tied around the basket’s handle. “I guess I must’ve missed that.”

“Don’t worry; we figured we’d ask your mom about local stuff,” Kira tells Scott, patting his arm. “She knows all the _best_ places for groceries. I can’t wait to go to the farmer’s market on Saturday!”

“My mom’s taking you to the farmer’s market?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re invited, too, if you want,” Lydia says. “Unless you’d rather catch up on unpacking.”

“I _am_ unpacked,” Scott says.

“Setting up your bed and opening a single kitchen box doesn’t count as unpacked,” Stiles says. He turns towards the flower shop and squares his shoulders. “All right. Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

 

“I don’t get why we have to _meet_ them this time,” Cora grumbles, slouching on the stool behind the front desk while the figures outside approach. “It feels pretty pointless to me.”

“We meet our new neighbors every time,” Allison points out. “And besides, it’s _Scott_.”

“So we already know half of them,” Cora says. “Even more pointless to meet like this. Erica and Malia aren’t even here yet.”

“It’s a _gesture_ ,” Derek says. He leans back against the desk, then stands up straight, then crosses and uncrosses his arms. The purple hyacinths poke awkwardly at the middle of his back, and he moves further away from the desk. “It’s…just go with it, okay? Kira suggested it.”

“Oh, well, if _Kira_ suggested it,” Isaac teases, then frowns. “I don’t actually know what that means.” Cora rolls her eyes.

The door opens, jingling cheerfully in the heavy silence while Scott’s friends step into the shop. “Hello!” the red-haired woman – Lydia – says brightly, holding up a huge wicker basket piled high with carved fruit. “It’s so great to meet you all!”

Strained silence answers her. Lydia’s smile turns glassy for a moment, then the door jingles open in a flurry of blonde hair. “Sorry we’re late!” Erica exclaims, nearly running into the giant basket of fruit. “Ooh, I love fruit!”

Derek clears his throat. “Um,” he says eloquently. “It’s nice to meet-”

 _“Kira!”_ Malia runs into the shop and lifts Kira clean off the ground in a hug. “You’re going to love it here, I can’t wait to show you all the cool local places and-”

“-that ice cream place you told me about!” Kira finishes, grinning back at her. “Melissa’s taking me to the farmer’s market on Saturday, you wanna come?”

“Of course!” Malia beams back at Kira, then notices the still-awkward silence around the shop. “Oh,” she says. “This is Kira, remember, Noshiko’s daughter, I told you guys about her?”

“Only every week ever since you met her two years ago,” Allison says, smiling at Kira. The tension abruptly dissolves as Kira bursts into laughter, and Derek lets out a breath of relief.

Erica helps Lydia carry the edible arrangement to the front desk, Scott following close behind with his hands jammed into his pockets. “So,” he begins hesitantly, uncertainly, then lets out an abruptly exasperated sigh when he glances at Stiles.

Derek looks over to see Isaac and Stiles glaring at each other, matching expressions of narrow-eyed disdain creeping onto their faces. “Seriously, you’re still here?” Stiles finally blurts. “Derek didn’t fire you yet?”

“Scott didn’t fire _you_ yet?” Isaac shoots back.

Derek stifles a snort, edging closer to Scott while Isaac and Stiles effortlessly pick up their years-old grudge. “I guess some things never change, huh,” he mutters.

Scott groans quietly into his hand. “I’d kind of hoped that one would,” he mumbles. Derek snorts, and elbow that Scott jabs half-heartedly into his ribs feels…nice, almost. Familiar, almost. The way they used to be…almost.

Lydia sets the edible arrangement on the front desk with a bright smile. “What’s your favorite?” she asks Cora.

Cora blinks, staring stone-faced at Lydia. “I don’t like fruit,” she blurts out.

“Oh.” Lydia’s smile falters for a moment. “Well, then, what _do_ you like?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh my god,” Allison whispers to Scott, eyes wide with horror. “We need to save her.”

Derek shrugs. “It’s fun to watch her struggle.”

Allison glares at him, then quickly ducks in between the two girls. “Hi! I’m Allison.”

Lydia flashes her a bland smile as she shakes Allison’s hand, then her eyes abruptly widen. “Where did you get that jacket?”

Allison beams, shrugging modestly. “A little boutique in San Francisco. My friend sells jewelry there.”

Lydia pats her sleeve, eyes lighting up. “Well, you are definitely my new best friend.”

Derek watches Lydia follow Allison to the display coolers, chatting excitedly about San Francisco and Beacon Hills’ bi-monthly artisan’s market. He turns back to the front desk to see Cora staring after them, gnawing moodily on a honeydew lotus.

“Oh, no.”

He spins to see Scott staring wide-eyed at the front desk – no, not at the front desk itself, but just above the front desk, at the wall behind the front desk…oh. Derek’s ears heat as Scott’s eyes trail over the forget-me-nots he’d painted all those years ago, framed and set behind glass to protect from the sun’s fading glare. “Uh.”

“Oh, _no_.” Scott claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in abject horror. He turns to Derek. “You kept it up there? This whole time?”

He’s pretty sure the back of his neck is burning. “Um,” Derek says. “Well, uh, the customers really seem to love it, and it’s practically part of the shop at this point-”

“Oh, _no_.” Scott shakes his head. “Oh, this is so bad, no.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Lydia says, wandering back to the front desk with Allison. “But it _is_ pretty bad.”

“That wasn’t helpful,” Kira says, patting Scott’s back. She glances up at the painting. “Well…”

“Wait.” Erica holds up a hand. “Wait, you think the _painting_ is bad?”

Lydia and Kira exchange glances. “Well,” they say in unison, then shrug awkwardly. “We went to school with Scott,” Kira says. “We just…know he can do better now.”

“Oh.” Derek’s ears burn for a completely different reason, a squeezing sort of discomfort pooling deep in his gut. He missed a lot. _They_ missed a lot. And for all that Derek keeps trying to pretend that this entire move is some sort of homecoming for Scott, it isn’t. It’s…it’s something different.

“I could make you another one,” Scott says. His hand drops from his mouth and clasps around the other, palms rubbing awkwardly the way they do whenever Scott thinks he’s overstepping. “A different one, of course. I mean. Just because – that’s not my best, anymore, and your customers should have the best, and-” His eyes light up, face flushing with a new idea. “I could work in the shop’s triskele! So it’d really be from the shop this time, and I could use different flowers and check that they all make sense and…” He coughs. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

A different one, of course. Of course it would be different now, of course everything is different now, of course it makes no sense to cling to a scrap of time four years’ past. Of course. Scott watches him carefully, thumb spinning tiny blueberry blossoms around his finger. Derek clears his throat. “You don’t have to.”

Scott shrugs, and the tense line of his shoulders loosens. “I want to. I can make you something new.”

Something new. That’s what this is. Not necessarily different, but…new. Derek can understand that. He looks up at the forget-me-nots, then turns back to Scott with a smile that almost feels real. “I’d like that.”

 

The front door swings open in a burst of sunlight and the sweet scent of flowers. Scott doesn’t pay much attention to the excited cheer that bursts from the reception, focusing instead on walking Hayden through the aftercare of her newly pierced belly button. “Yeah, yeah, got it,” Hayden says distractedly, craning her head over Scott’s shoulder while he hands over cleaning solution and printed instructions. “Are those _flowers?_ ”

“We’re next door to a florist,” Scott points out, but turns around to see Malia waving happily from the middle of reception with a motley arrangement of flowers clutched in her fist.

He turns back to Hayden to find her already hopping out of the chair, shoving the cleaning solution into her bag as she goes. “Are you selling flowers?” she asks Malia eagerly.

“Fresh from the Boyds’ farm,” Malia says with a cheery smile, and plucks a white flower from her makeshift bouquet. “Here, this one’ll match your new belly button ring. On the house!”

“Thank you!” Hayden twirls the flower between her fingers as she skips towards the door. “Thanks again, Scott!” she calls over her shoulder.

Malia grins after her as the door swings shut. “I didn’t know you did body piercings.”

“I didn’t know you…handed out flowers for free,” Scott says, blinking down at her bouquet.

“Oh!” Malia holds out the flowers. “These are for you, actually! I mean, for the whole store, actually. I brought over some cups if you wanna keep them in water.”

Scott glances at Stiles, who shrugs, then at Kira, who’s too busy grinning down at her pink rose to even look at him, then back at Malia. “…I think I missed something.”

“It was Boyd’s idea,” Malia says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.) “See, because you’re making this new awesome painting for our shop and you won’t even let us pay you-”

“It’s a gift,” Scott says. “It’s – I’m replacing – the first one was – it’s a gift, okay? For the shop.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Malia rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “So then we thought, well, the least we could do is bring you guys some flowers to hang around your shop! As a gift, from shop to shop.”

Scott watches helplessly as she strolls further into the shop and starts setting flowers in makeshift vases at each work station. “I can’t-”

“They’re leftovers from Boyd’s deliveries; they’ll wilt away and get turned into flower mulch if you don’t take them,” Malia says. “It’s literally the least we could do, since Allison said you wouldn’t feel right accepting anything we put any actual effort into.”

“I-” Scott spins around to glare at Allison lounging in Lydia’s chair. “It’s not like I’d – it’s just-”

“Give up before you hurt yourself, Scott,” Lydia says. She sets down the machine and wipes down Allison’s forearm, tilting it until the arrow catches the light. “So, what do you think?”

Allison beams. “It’s _perfect_.” She sits up and wraps Lydia in a hug, mindful of her new tattoo. “I’m so glad I got to be your first client as an official tattoo artist.”

“I am, too.” Lydia wraps Allison’s arm, then sits back with a grin. “I can’t wait to send pictures to Noshiko. Oh, those flowers are _beautiful_ ,” she adds when she notices the makeshift vase that Malia places on her table. “What are they?”

“Freesias,” Malia and Allison say in unison. “I saved the pink ones just for you,” Allison adds, nudging Lydia with a bright smile.

Scott ducks his head while Malia drops the last handful of flowers into a plastic cup at his work station. “There,” she says, straightening with a grin. “Asters, some periwinkles, and-”

“-forget-me-nots,” Scott finishes, spinning his ring around his finger.

Malia beams. “You know flower stuff!”

“Not much. I just remember a few things from when I used to – bother Derek at the shop.”

“Wish I could’ve been there to see that. I love bothering Derek,” Malia snorts while she carefully pours water into the cup. She hops onto his stool. “You know, Derek never told me that you guys do piercings, too.”

“Well, I’m licensed, but we’re interviewing for a full-time position next week and-” Scott pauses at the grin on Malia’s face, wide and bright and far too excited. “…I can’t train you, Malia.”

Malia’s grin doesn’t waver as she hops off the stool. “We’ll see. Bye, Kira!” Kira wiggles her fingers in a tiny wave, nose still buried in her pink rose.

“I’m serious,” Scott says. “I don’t have nearly enough piercing experience for that.” Malia saunters out the door with a cheery wave. “I don’t,” he says to Stiles. “I really can’t train her.”

“It’d be kinda funny if we stole one of Derek’s employees,” Stiles says.

“We’re not gonna steal – Stiles, they’re _cousins_.”

Stiles shrugs. “Even funnier.”

 

Derek looks up as the door chimes open. “Braeden,” he says, eyes widening in surprise. “…Were you looking for Allison, or…?”

“I don’t work with her dad anymore,” Braeden says. She shuts the door behind her and turns back to face Derek, the afternoon sun bathing her hair in a hazy glow. “Haven’t for a while, actually.”

“I know,” Derek says, nodding slowly. “I thought I heard you were planning on leaving town.” He shrugs. “Moving on.”

“I was, up until Marin told me who was renting out her brother’s old place.” She stops in front of the desk, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of her jeans. “I’ve heard a lot about Scott McCall over the years.”

“Yeah, Deaton never shuts up about him.” Derek drops the last bellflower into the vase and steps out from behind the front desk. “He’s a good guy. Really talented.” He pauses, then adds, “He’d be a great boss.”

Braeden huffs out a soft laugh, head dropping for the barest of moments before rising to meet Derek’s eyes. “I didn’t come here to ask you permission to work next door to you.”

“I know.” He leans his hip against the desk. “I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“It’s been half a year, Derek,” Braeden says. She opens her mouth to continue, then closes it. “I ran into him a few times in New York,” she says instead, tapping the silver stud on her nose. “He gave me this.”

“Yeah?” Derek asks, cottoning on the subject change with equal parts relief and apprehension. “What was he like?”

“You know him better than I do,” Braeden says absently. Her words sink through him cold and hard, dropping his stomach down through the floor, and he doesn’t really understand why he suddenly feels so off-kilter. “He was always so nice. Even when he was just an apprentice, he’d get so many customers because he just…he just had this way of making you so comfortable, like you’d known each other all your life.” She laughs a little. “Still does, actually. Stiles had to kick him out of my interview because he was being too nice.”

“That definitely sounds like Scott and Stiles,” Derek says, shaking his head. “So you’re staying, then? I thought you didn’t really like Beacon Hills. ”

“The town grows on you,” Braeden says, shrugging. “And I don’t really care much about where I stay. It’s always more about _who_ I’m staying for, you know?”

He doesn’t really know. Beacon Hills is so ingrained into his life, the woods and the park and the sleepy town with his family’s shop at the end of the road. The town has always been his home, has always anchored him down while people blew in and out of his life with the wind. To place all of that in a person, set down roots with them and hope that they won’t blow apart, seems downright daunting to him. “So Scott McCall’s worth staying for?”

“I’ve got a good feeling about his shop,” Braeden says. “He’s working with some great people, already hearing lots of buzz about him around town.” She grins at Derek. “And besides, when you meet someone like Scott, wouldn’t you find reasons to stick around?”

He looks down at the desk, gaze unfocusing as he remembers the initials carved across from his own, four years and an entire lifetime ago. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get that.”

Braeden looks over his head, and her eyebrows lift. “Huh. Wasn’t that a different painting before? A bunch of blue flowers, right?”

“Forget-me-nots,” Derek says automatically. He follows Braeden’s gaze to the new painting, dozens of flowers gathered into three broad spirals with a red king protea at the triskele’s center. “Yeah, um, Scott made a new one. He didn’t really like the old one anymore, I guess.”

“Well, he made it when he was eighteen,” Braeden says reasonably. “I can’t look at the sculptures I made back then, either.” She tilts her head. “What’d he do with the old one?”

“Oh, um.” Derek’s ears abruptly heat. “He didn’t want it, so…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, why let a perfectly good painting go to waste, you know.”

“I know.” Braeden nods slowly, grinning at Derek. “It doesn’t match anything in your house.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Braeden shakes her head, laughing softly. “We’ll go shopping for throw pillows on Sunday.”

“I don’t need _throw pillows_ ,” Derek protests. Braeden heads out of the shop, still laughing to herself. “Why do I need throw pillows?”

“Sunday at ten,” Braeden tosses over her shoulder. “I’m bringing coffee.”

“I’m bringing Isaac.”

“He’ll side with me anyway,” Braeden says confidently. She’s probably right, but Derek doesn’t want to admit that just yet. The door jingles merrily as she pushes it open, and she turns back with a faint smile. “I think we’re going to be okay, Derek.”

He leans back against the desk. “I think we already are.”

Braeden grins, bright and blinding against the afternoon sun, and the door swings shut behind her. Derek glances up at the shop’s new painting and lets out a sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re going to be okay.”

 

Scott wipes down his station after his last morning appointment, carefully moving his vase of pink-purple flowers – liatris, he thinks Derek had called them when he’d brought extra flowers to the shop – while he cleans the table. “Stiles,” he calls out without looking up, “Can you-”

“Already started the autoclave,” a voice says, cheerful and proud and not sounding like Stiles at all.

Scott looks up to see Malia beaming at him from behind the front desk, and Stiles nowhere in sight. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Lunch break,” Malia says, shrugging. “He said I could cover for him. For the rest of the day. And tomorrow.” She holds up a notepad covered in highlighted notes. “I’m staying on top of all of my chores, boss.”

Scott blinks, trying to remember if Stiles had actually hired Malia this time instead of just joking about it. Kira elbows him with a grin. “He’s not your boss yet, Malia,” she says.

“Yeah, but I’m wearing him down, I can feel it,” Malia says, tapping her new septum piercing. “Say, isn’t it about time for your lunch break, Scott?”

Scott tries to check the clock while still maintaining eye contact with Malia. It doesn’t work. “Not for another half hour,” he says after giving up and looking at the clock. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason,” Malia says, in the exact same tone that Stiles uses when attempting to maintain his innocence. Her eyes slide towards the door. “Just, uh, it kind of looks like Derek’s going on a lunch break, so…”

Derek doesn’t take lunch breaks. Not that Scott’s been watching for them or anything. He forces a nonchalant shrug. “So?” he says in what he hopes is a casual voice, then whirls to glare at Kira’s loud snort.

When he turns back to Malia, she’s staring intently through the glass door. “He just took out his key – okay, well, now he dropped them – _now_ he’s unlocking his car.”

“I guess he _does_ take lunch breaks,” Lydia muses.

Scott grabs his jacket. “I’ll get the door,” Malia says, striding magnanimously to the door, then ends up getting nearly run over as Scott dashes outside.

Derek straightens as Scott skids to a stop between the shops, sliding over brittle leaves and nearly toppling into the bench. “Hey, Scott,” he says, fiddling awkwardly with his keys. They drop to the ground, and he quickly ducks down to grab them. “Um.”

“I was just,” Scott says, trying to catch his breath without looking like he’s actually trying to catch his breath. Derek’s busy dusting off gravel from his keys, so it kind of works. He waves an arm at his bike. “You know. Lunch.”

Derek nods. “I was just – borrowed some movies from Erica,” he says, holding up a flash drive. “Left it in the glovebox this morning.”

“Oh.” Scott’s face reddens. He feels even stupider now, especially since he can’t feel his keys anywhere in his jacket. He must have left them in the shop and now he’s supposed to be leaving for lunch. “Cool.”

“Yeah. Um, there’s this movie, Quills. It’s, uh, it’s kind of weird? But it’s good.” Derek shoves his hands into his pockets. “If you’re, uh, into that kind of thing.”

“I’ll have to check it out,” Scott says. The summer air hangs hot and stifling between them, welding the tension even tighter as sweat pools at the back of his neck. Derek nods jerkily, turning back to his shop, and – “I came back,” Scott bursts out. He takes a breath and forces himself to keep going. “Twice. I came back here, but they said-”

“I went away,” Derek says, turning back slowly to face Scott. “Twice. Once in the winter, once in the summer.”

Scott deflates. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know why he bothered saying it. Of course Derek already knew that, it doesn’t mean anything anymore, but – but they used to be _friends_ , at least, and now they can barely even manage small talk about weird movies. The faint breeze blows a crumpled leaf between them, and he jerks his head at his bike. “I’m gonna, uh-”

“Where are you going?” Derek asks. “For lunch.”

“Uh.” His mind blanks into a panic. He hadn’t actually thought that far, and he can’t remember a single restaurant within a driving distance.

Derek shrugs, stilted and self-conscious. “There’s a new vegan place down the road,” he says. “Um, the falafel’s not bad.”

“I like falafel,” Scott says, then winces internally. “That, uh. That sounds good.”

“Good.” Derek nods, then pauses, then nods some more. “Do you…know where it is?”

He shrugs. “Not really.”

“It’s not far. You could walk there, actually.” Derek jams his hands into his pockets. “I could, uh, show you?”

“Oh.” Scott blinks. “ _Oh_. Yeah, that’d be – that’d be great.”

“Great.” A tiny smile curls at the corners of Derek’s mouth, and he nods down the street. “It’s this way.”

They don’t fall into step as they walk down the road, and there are still awkward silences between Derek’s questions about New York and Scott’s questions about Beacon Hills, and the falafel…well, it’s edible.

It’s a start.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek walks into the tattoo shop, takes one glance at Scott, then nearly turns around and walks right back out.

“Sorry!” Scott calls, lifting his head from his sprawl on Lydia’s chair. “I’ll be done soon. I can come by the shop after, and then we can go to lunch?”

“Um,” Derek says, staring several feet above Scott and the needle jabbing into his back. “No, um, I can wait here.”

Lydia quirks an eyebrow at him while she wipes down Scott’s back. “You don’t like needles?” she asks.

“I’m okay with them,” he says. He glances into Braeden’s piercing room, watches Malia prepare a needle, then quickly looks away. “Mostly.”

“So going to the hospital must be a total nightmare for you.”

“No, shots don’t actually bother me too much.” He drags over the stool from Scott’s station and sits down to watch Lydia fill in the last spindly branch winding high up the back of Scott’s neck. “There’s just something about tattoos and piercings. It doesn’t freak me out or anything, it’s just…”

“Permanent,” Scott supplies. He props his chin on his hands and grins at Derek. “Because they never go away.”

He smiles, remembering the long-winded conversations they used to have as teenagers. “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty big commitment.”

Scott nods. “You’re going to Boyd and Erica’s housewarming party on Saturday, right?”

“Erica’d kill me if I missed it,” Derek snorts. “Besides, Boyd’s making his grandma’s pot roast.”

“Really?” Scott’s eyebrows shoot up in excitement. “Oh man, I remember that. It’s the best. Lydia, you’re gonna love it.”

“Looking forward to it,” Lydia says. She sits back and eyes the bare-branched tree sprawling across Scott’s back critically. “It seems like a pretty big deal that they’re moving in together. How long have they been together?”

Scott blinks, brows furrowing while Lydia watches him expectantly. “I don’t know,” he says, voice tinged with surprise and the barest shade of dismay. “I don’t really remember when they…” He glances up at Derek.

“Four and a half years,” Derek says quietly. “It was a little fuzzy at the beginning, but I think that’s when they officially started counting. It was, uh, right around the time you moved.”

Scott nods, eyes locked on his hands clenched tight around Lydia’s chair. “I should’ve remembered that.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Lydia says breezily. “I hope they like the lamp I got them.”

Derek nods. “Oh, yeah, they love Parrish’s glasswork.”

“Who love whose what?” Stiles calls as he walks through the door. He shivers exaggeratedly while he holds it open for Kira. “Man, have Beacon Hills’ winters always been this cold?”

Lydia makes a face at him. “You spent the last four winters in _New York_.”

“Yeah, but I expect it to be freezing there. This is weird.” He loosens his scarf as he walks over to Lydia’s station. “It’s not just me, right?”

“It’s a little colder than usual,” Derek says, shrugging. He frowns as he notices a familiar pink stain along the fringe of Stiles’ scarf. “Where’d you get that scarf?”

“Borrowed it from Cora,” Stiles says with a shrug. “She said I could give it back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Cora told you that?”

“Yeah.” Stiles glances down at the scarf suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well,” Derek says, then glances at Malia.

Malia sighs, eyes dancing with amusement. “That’s not Cora’s scarf, Stiles. That’s Isaac’s.”

 _“What?”_ Stiles rips the scarf off his neck immediately, holding it away from him in disgust. “I’m gonna kill her. She did that on purpose!”

Kira snorts as he stomps out the door. “Did they always hate each other that much?” she asks.

“Worse,” Scott and Derek say in unison. They grin at each other. “I don’t think they even remember why anymore, either,” Scott adds. Lydia nudges him upright while she wraps his back. “Hey, those arm warmers are really cool, Kira.”

“Thanks!” Kira beams, wiggling her fingers under Scott’s nose. “Derek made them.”

“No way!” Scott’s eyebrows shoot up, and he tugs Kira’s hand closer. “You _made_ these?” he asks Derek.

He shrugs awkwardly. “They’re simple enough to make,” he says, scratching his head. “The pattern’s really basic.”

“But they’re _embroidered_. There’s so much detail.” Scott traces a flower petal with his finger, mouth hanging open. “I never knew you were so good at needlework.”

“Picked it up from my mom,” he says, shrugging awkwardly. “It’s kind of a weird hobby, but, uh-”

“It’s not weird.” Scott finally lets go of Kira’s arm. “That is _so_ cool. Amazing, actually.” He smiles at Derek, the lights from Lydia’s mirror casting a gentle glow across his face. “Derek, you’re really good.”

He ducks his head and tries to pretend that it’s the heater making the tips of his ears burn. “Thanks.”

The front door opens. “Isaac and Stiles are fighting again,” Braeden says as she walks in. “Should I be concerned?”

“No,” Scott and Derek say in unison. Kira snorts and moves away to set up her station for the afternoon.

Malia straightens. “I set everything up for your twelve-thirty, Braeden,” she says, pointing at the piercing room. “I think I got all right.”

Braeden smiles. “Well, let’s go check.” Malia nods eagerly and follows her into the room.

“How’s that going?” Derek asks Scott, tilting his head after them.

“She’s a fast learner,” Scott says. “Braeden seems really happy with her.” He sits upright, grinning over his shoulder at Derek. “How’s it look?”

“Pretty cool,” Derek says, nodding at the tattoo spread across Scott’s entire back. “Why a tree?”

“Lydia was sketching it one day, and I thought it was really cool,” Scott says, shrugging. “There’s something about it I just really like. I can’t really explain it, but it just feels really…” He shrugs again. “Balanced.”

“Makes sense.”

“No it doesn’t,” Scott says. He tugs a loose sweater over his head and grins at Derek. “Foxgloves.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“I finally remembered what the flowers on Kira’s arm warmers are,” Scott says. “Foxgloves. To match her fox sleeve, right?”

“Right.” Derek nods, slowly putting on his jacket. “…I didn’t know you remembered what they looked like.”

“It took me a while,” Scott says, shrugging. “Ready to go to lunch?”

“Starving.” He follows Scott past the reception, then pauses. “The roots.”

Scott turns around. “Huh?”

“Your tattoo,” Derek says. “Why the tree feels so balanced. Because of the roots.”

Scott’s eyes unfocus for a moment, then his mouth curves into a grin. “You’re totally right,” he says. “That’s why. It’s the roots.”

“I try,” Derek says with a modest shrug. Scott opens the door with a smile, and Derek follows him out into the calm winter air.

 

Allison bites her lip. “Is this too much? I’m doing too much, aren’t I? This is just way too much.”

“No, no, it’s perfect,” Scott says. He plucks the rose from her hand and adds it back to the vase. “It’s not too much, I promise.”

She stares down at the half-completed arrangement in front of them, mouth twisting. “We’ve only been dating for two months. Barely. Forty-eight days.” She shakes her head abruptly. “Not that I’ve been counting.”

Scott squeezes her hand, pressing his lips together in an attempt to smother down his laugh. (Judging by the way Allison rolls her eyes at him, he isn’t very successful.) “It’s Valentine’s Day. You work in a flower shop. She’ll love it.”

“I just…” Allison sighs in frustration. “I don’t want to freak out her out.”

She nudges the nearest rose with her finger, and they watch it slide along the vase’s rim. Her jaw is clenched stiffly, the barest of lines forming between her eyebrows. It’s a look that Scott remembers all too well. “You want it to be perfect,” Scott says.

“No,” Allison says. Scott looks up, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “It’s never going to be perfect. Nothing’s ever going to be perfect. I just…” She lets out a breath, nodding slowly. “I really, _really_ want Braeden to like this.”

 _I really,_ really _want Braeden to like_ me, her face says. Scott turns back to the arrangement, eyeing it critically. “Okay, well, let’s break things down. Why’d you pick this vase?”

“Well, she loves Jordan Parrish’s glasswork,” Allison says. She lifts the vase carefully, turning it between her hands. “They’ve worked together before, and when she visits me at the shop, his vases are the ones she likes the most. And she gravitates towards darker colors, like this deep violet.” She smiles a little. “Actually, when I bought this from Parrish, he knew I was getting it for her right away. So that’s a good sign, right?”

“Well, they’ve known each other for years.” Scott carefully lifts a lavender rose from the vase. “And I know why you picked roses for her. She’s always stealing them from the rest of us when Erica brings leftover flowers to the shop.”

“Really?” Allison laughs. “She told me she liked roses, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, she loves them,” Scott assures her. “She almost got in a fight with Kira once when she took a rose that Malia had given to her. I notice you didn’t strip these roses, though.”

Allison shrugs. “It just felt right, keeping the thorns. That just…feels like Braeden, to me.” She tilts her head. “Is that dumb?”

“No.” He shakes his head, nudging her shoulder with a grin. “That means you thought of her.” He nods at the daisies scattered across the work bench. “What’s the story there?”

“Oh, um.” Allison ducks her head, pinks cheek as a bashful smile spreads across her face. “On our first date, when we went to the park, she…made me a daisy chain.” She shakes her head. “That’s too much, right? I’m just doing too much, and I’m making this too big of a deal, and…”

“Hey.” He grabs her frantically waving hands and settles them on the table. “You’re not doing too much. You’re being thoughtful. And if she doesn’t like that, then she doesn’t deserve you. Besides,” he adds. “I know that you know, deep down, that this is really what you want to do. Otherwise you would’ve asked Lydia for advice, not me. You know I’m totally an enabler when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re all about the grand gestures,” Allison says. She grins at him. “You know, I still have those flowers you gave me when you asked me out for the first time.”

“Those wire ones?” He groans, dropping his head into his hands while Allison laughs. “Oh, no. They’re so _bad_.”

“No, they were so cute!” Allison nudges his shoulder while he slowly melts into the table. “Stargazer lilies are still one of my favorite flowers, you know.”

“But I made them so badly,” Scott says. “Why do you still have them? I should just remake them so at least they’re not a total embarrassment to look at.”

“They’re not an embarrassment to look at,” Allison says. “I keep them on my desk at home. The paint’s kind of faded, but they’re still beautiful. And I’d never want you to remake them.”

“But they’d be way better now.”

“But you’re not in love with me now,” Allison says. “What makes them so beautiful is that you made them for me, feeling the way you did about me. And whenever I look at them, I can see that love, and that love that you had for me.” She shrugs. “It’s a different kind of love now, but that time when we were in love is always going to be a part of my life. I never want to forget that. And it wouldn’t be the same if you tried to recreate that now.”

She picks up the daisies and starts adding them to the vase. Scott watches her in silence, slowly mulling over her words. “You’re right. You’re totally right.”

“I always am,” Allison says, grinning at him.

“So you admit that it’s really just the thought that counts, and that they are, in fact, technically hideous.”

Allison swats his arm with a laugh. “They’re not! I really think they’re pretty!”

 

Malia sits down at the front desk and grins at Derek. “…Yes?” Derek asks, looking up reluctantly from his stack of receipts.

She sticks out her tongue, eyes bright with glee. Derek raises an eyebrow at the steel barbell poking through the middle of her tongue. “Nice.”

“I know!” Malia chirps, grin widening. “Scott gave it to me.”

He looks up from the receipts. “I thought Braeden’s training you, not Scott.”

“Yeah, she was supervising,” Malia says. “Me and Scott made a pact.”

“A pact?”

The door chimes, and Scott and Kira walk in. “Did you show him?” Scott asks. Something flashes in his mouth for a split second, and – oh. _Oh_.

Malia loops her arm over Scott’s shoulder while he opens his mouth to show off a barbell identical to hers. “We pierced each other’s tongues!”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Braeden let you?” he asks Malia.

“Yup, she said I’m ready,” Malia says with a proud nod. “I pierced Kira’s earlobe a few weeks ago, too.”

“She’s a fast learner,” Kira says, kissing Malia quickly. “We’re going to The Dessert Wolf for sorbet, you wanna come?”

“I’ll pass,” Derek says. Malia grabs Kira’s hand and tugs her out of the shop, waving aimlessly behind her as the door jingles shut.

Scott leans his elbows on the front desk, frowning slightly as he watches Derek pick up another receipt. “You’re not going to lunch?”

“Oh, um,” Derek says eloquently. “I…well, I mean, if you wanted to get smoothies or something, for, um…” He gestures lamely at Scott’s mouth.

Scott laughs softly. “You _can_ eat with a tongue piercing,” he says. “Malia’s just using it as an excuse to have ice cream for lunch.” He grabs the receipt out of Derek’s hand and sets it down on the desk. “Brett’s making some weird new kale soup at the diner. Wanna try it?”

Derek stands up, shoving his wallet into his pocket. “You think it’d taste good with a blueberry milkshake?”

“Not a chance,” Scott says, grinning so widely that Derek can see the barest glint from his new tongue ring. “Let’s do it anyway.”

 

 

“I didn’t realize ear piercings were such a big deal,” Boyd says.

Malia carefully marks one lobe and then the other. “I’m still learning, so Scott needs to be here if Braeden isn’t.”

Boyd nods. “And Lydia’s here because…?”

“Emotional support,” Lydia says, crossing her legs neatly on the room’s extra chair. “People tend to get nervous about their first piercings. I’m here to hold your hand and stuff.”

“You’re not actually holding my hand,” Boyd points out.

Lydia wrinkles her nose. “Did you actually _want_ me to hold your hand?”

“They’re just lobes.” Boyd reaches up and wiggles his ear. “They don’t hurt at all.”

“Positive thinking, that’s good!” Lydia chirps. “And, you know, sometimes it helps to be distracted, like…talking about something else.”

Boyd and Malia roll their eyes at each other. “Just ask him already, Lydia,” Malia says as she prepares the needle.

“Ask him what?” Lydia asks, eyebrows raised in the picture of innocence. “I’m just here to help.”

“You don’t actually have any piercing training,” Scott points out. “And I thought this was your lunch break.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him. “Do you really want to start, Scott?”

Boyd sighs while Malia pushes the needle through his left earlobe. “I’m disappointed in you, Lydia Martin,” he says. “I thought you’d be the type to ask someone out directly instead of using their friends for a bizarre game of Telephone.”

Lydia points a finger at him. “This is not Telephone. This is reconnaissance.”

“It’s just a date,” Scott says, exchanging bewildered glances with Malia. “How much reconnaissance do you need?”

“Oh, Scott,” Lydia says, shaking her head pityingly. She turns back to Boyd. “Alright, let’s talk activities. Does she like movies? Bowling? Pottery?”

“Pottery?” Malia repeats, making a face.

“Don’t knock it, pottery can be fun,” Boyd says. Malia shrugs and moves around to his other ear. “I think…” he says, then waits until Malia pushes the needle through his earlobe. He grins. “That new yoga place down the street. You should ask her to sign up for a class with you.”

Lydia blinks, eyebrows lifting. “Yoga?” she repeats. “Cora likes yoga?”

“Well, her brother _loves_ yoga.”

“Yeah, but that’s Derek, not Cora,” Lydia says. She taps a finger against her chin. “Are you sure she’d want to take a yoga class?”

“Absolutely,” Boyd says with a firm nod. He glances at the clock. “And if I remember correctly, which I always do, now’s about time for her lunch break that she never actually takes.”

“Perfect!” Lydia bounces off the stool eagerly, smoothing down her skirt. “Thanks, Boyd!”

Scott blinks at the door that Lydia shuts behind her. “When did Cora pick up yoga? She never seemed to like it much when we were teenagers.”

“She still doesn’t,” Malia says, narrowing her eyes at Boyd. “Why’d you do that to Lydia?”

“Trust me,” Boyd says. He grins at his newly pierced ears in the mirror. “It’s going to work out just fine.”

 

A piece of paper drops onto the front desk. “What’s this?” Derek asks, picking it up with a frown. Scott moves his stool closer to read it over Derek’s arm.

“My new work schedule,” Cora says. She jabs a finger down at a column. “I’m closing on Wednesdays instead of Thursdays now. Non-negotiable.”

“Fine,” Derek says with an absent shrug. It’s not like he has anything to do on Thursday nights, anyway. “Why?”

Allison all but skips in from the back room. “Yeah, why?” she parrots, waggling her eyebrows at Cora. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with this brochure I found in the office.”

Scott snatches up the brochure while Cora glares at Allison. “No way,” he says, flipping it open with wide eyes. “It actually worked?”

“What worked?” Derek asks, then finally gets a good glimpse at the images on the brochure. He boggles up at his sister. “You’re taking _yoga_?”

“I happen to like yoga,” Cora says with a haughty sniff.

“No, you don’t,” three voices say at once. “I’ve been trying to get you to take classes with me for _years_ ,” Derek adds.

“Thursday evenings, beginner class,” Allison reads, leaning over Scott’s arm to peer at the brochure. “Oh, that’s the one I wanted to take with Lydia!”

“Oh,” Cora says, voice odd. “Really?”

Scott’s stool wobbles, and Derek looks over to see him nearly tipping out of it in an attempt to hold in laughter. “What?” Derek asks him, but Scott shakes his head quickly. He rolls his eyes and turns to Allison instead. “Why would you take a beginner’s class?”

“Well, because I wanted to take a class with my best friend,” Allison says with a shrug. “She said she wasn’t interested, though, so I’m taking Wednesday’s advanced class with Braeden instead.”

“Sounds like a fun date,” Scott says, nodding at Derek.

“It is,” Allison says happily. She perks up suddenly. “Oh, hey! Derek, what are you doing on Monday at five?”

She smacks Derek’s arm in excitement. “Ow,” he says. Scott rubs the offended spot with an apologetic twist to his mouth. “Nothing, why?”

“Wrong,” Allison says, shoving the brochure in his face with a broad grin. “You’re going to hot yoga class with me! Come on, you said you were thinking of trying it out again.”

He is, but… “Why’re you asking me? It’s a beginner’s class, so why not ask Lydia?”

“Because Lydia’s already taking Thursday classes,” Scott bursts out, then apparently gives up all self-control and folds over the desk in laughter.

Derek blinks at him for a moment, then everything abruptly clicks into place. He turns back to Cora. “So _that’s_ why you’re suddenly so interested in yoga.”

“Well, she asked me,” Cora says quickly. “And I didn’t want to be rude, and…” She glares at Allison’s smirk. “Shut up.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hold this against you just because my best friend totally ditched me to hang out with you instead,” Allison says. “Every week for the entire summer. In skin-tight clothing.”

Cora glares harder, then whacks Scott between the shoulder blades. “Ow!” Scott yelps.

“You know,” Cora tells Derek while Scott tries ineffectively to rub his own back, “I think Scott would really be interested in hot yoga. You should all sign up together.”

“He would?” Allison asks, brows scrunched. Cora kicks her leg, and her eyes widen. “I mean, yes, absolutely,” she says, looking between Derek and Scott with an earnest nod. “Scott, you’d really like hot yoga. And it’s always good to support local businesses, you know. Hayden seems like a great instructor.”

Scott gives up trying to reach his back. “I’m not really big on yoga like you guys, though.”

“Hot yoga’s really fun,” Allison says. “You’ll like it. Braeden’s in, too. We can go shopping for yoga pants this weekend!”

“Braeden’s in, too?” Scott asks. “Well, okay, I guess.” He shrugs, smiling at Derek. “Try not to show me up _too_ much in class.”

“Oh, I’m sure Derek’ll be more than happy to help you with the poses,” Cora says. “He’s a great teacher.”

Derek frowns at her. “You’ve always said I’m a terrible teacher.”

“I’m sure you’re great,” Scott says, hopping down from the counter. “I gotta go set up for my three o’clock. I’ll come by later.” He opens the door with a jingle, then turns back around. “Oh, and if you see Boyd, tell him that he’s a genius. Evil,” he adds, “but a genius.”

Derek blinks as the door shuts behind Scott, then leans across the counter and flicks Cora’s ear. “Ow!” she yelps. “What was that for?”

“Why’d you make him sign up for yoga? He doesn’t even like yoga!”

“Neither does Cora,” Allison mumbles from behind the brochure. “But she’s doing it just because Lydia asked her.” Cora kicks her again. “Hey!”

“Besides,” Cora adds while Allison rubs her shin, “you should be thanking me, Derek. I just did you a huge favor.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

“He’s going to be twisting his body into weird pretzel shapes in a hundred-degree room right in front of you,” Cora says. “You’re welcome.”

“Actually, we don’t do the pretzel shapes in the beginner classes,” Allison says. “But Scott’s always been one of those people who manages to look really good when they sweat. He just kinda glows, it’s so unfair.”

“You probably should skip wearing a shirt,” Cora adds. “Pit stains aren’t a good look on you.”

He glares between the two. “You _had_ to go with hot yoga.”

“You’re welcome,” they say in unison.

 

“Okay, so, listen,” Stiles says.

Scott glances up absently from his work table, turns back to sketching Danny’s half-sleeve, then he finally registers what he’d just seen and his head snaps back up again.

The entire shop bursts into laughter. “That’s,” Stiles says peevishly as he shifts from foot to foot just inside the front door, “That is the opposite of listening.”

“What’s there to tell?” Braeden snorts, tucking her ankle over her knee. “You have a giant hickey on your neck.”

“It’s not _that_ big.”

“It looks like you made out with a werewolf,” Kira says.

Malia nods fervently while tucking a pink sword lily into Kira’s hair, then blinks. “Wait, wouldn’t he just be dead if that happened? Like, wouldn’t the werewolf just eat him?”

“I don’t know,” Kira shrugs. “I’ll ask the next werewolf I meet.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, I should make sure to ask Derek for some wolf’s bane first, though.”

Lydia makes a face. “You do realize that aconite is extremely poisonous for humans, right?”

Kira shrugs, patting her sword lily with a grin. “Hey, if I’m going down, I’m taking the werewolf with me.”

“The point is,” Stiles says loudly, “is that this is not a big deal. Nothing happened.”

“Yeah, okay,” Malia says with a placating nod.

“Leave him alone, guys,” Scott says, flipping his planner shut. He follows Stiles into the office and shuts the door, then leans against the couch and waits.

Stiles fidgets in place, fingers tapping together nervously. “ _What?”_ he finally demands.

Scott shrugs. “I’m listening.”

“Oh.” Stiles slumps. “I mean, there’s nothing to tell, really. It just kinda…” He spreads his hands helplessly. “…happened.”

Scott nods. Stiles slumps down on the couch next to him, lips pushed out into an almost-pout. “Isaac has a daisy on his ass,” he says faintly.

“Chamomile, actually. More pronounced pollen bud than a daisy. And it’s more like on his side hip than his gluteus maximus.”

Stiles turns towards him, eyebrows raised. “I _thought_ it looked like your work,” he says. “He’s always been pretty loyal about only letting you jab needles through his skin.”

“First customer I ever had,” Scott says, nodding. “I was scared shitless about messing up his industrial piercing, but he trusted me.”

“You’re a trustworthy guy like that,” Stiles says, knocking his shoulder against Scott.

Scott ducks his head with a grin. “He’s a good guy, you know.”

“It’s not like that,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “It’s just…it’s nothing serious.”

He nods. “I’m just saying. He’s a good guy.”

Stiles lets out a sigh. “Yeah.” Scott moves closer to Stiles and lets him slump against his side. “Yeah, he’s not all that bad.”

“Especially in bed.”

Stiles stares at Scott’s cheery grin, nonplussed. “We were having a moment, Scott.”

“You were thinking it, too.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, then drops his head back on Scott’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, I totally was.”

 

Malia sits down at the front desk and grins at Derek. Or, more accurately, she sits down _on_ the front desk and flashes him a truly maniacal grin while waggling her eyebrows. Derek knows that nothing good could possibly come of this, so he settles for tugging a stack of receipts out from under her and continuing his work.

After five long minutes of Malia staring Derek down like a doll in a horror movie and Derek studiously pretending that she doesn’t exist, Isaac shuffles over and asks, “Malia, why are you waggling your eyebrows at Derek?”

Derek mentally curses. “I’m so glad you asked, Isaac!” Malia declares, her grin somehow managing to become even wider and more terrifying. “As of today, I have officially finished my apprenticeship!”

Wait. “Wait,” Derek says, jerking his head up from the computer. “That’s what this was about?” Malia nods, pouting slightly. “Congratulations!”

Malia smiles magnanimously as Derek hugs her tight. “You said you wanted to be the first to know, Derek,” she says, patting his back. “But I guess you have to share that with Isaac now.”

“Well, I bet you told Kira first, anyway.”

Malia shrugs, beaming as Allison comes over to hug her. “Technically, Braeden did. And technically, she already saw my first work as an official piercing artist, so it’s not like I _told_ her.” Malia smirks. “In those exact words.”

Derek picks up his phone, frowning at its empty screen. “We’re celebrating, right? How come Scott hasn’t sent me any dinner plans?”

“Probably because he’s ten feet away on the other side of that wall and can just come by whenever,” Allison says, jerking her head at the north wall.

“And he was waiting for me to break the news to you guys first,” Malia adds, nodding. “You guys free tonight?”

“Of course,” Derek and Allison say in unison. Isaac stares at the ceiling instead of answering, and Allison elbows him. “Ow!” he yelps, rubbing his arm. “What?”

“Dinner tonight,” Allison hisses, jerking her head at Malia.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Isaac says absently. He tilts his head, hands propped on his hips. “So what exactly _was_ your first work as an official piercing artist?”

“I didn’t pierce someone’s dick, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Malia says, rolling her eyes. She brightens with a grin that looks downright wicked. “But I _am_ glad you asked!”

Isaac leans his hip against the desk. “What could possibly be better than piercing a dick?” he mutters.

Footsteps shuffle to an abrupt stop behind him. “Wow, I regret walking into this conversation already,” Cora says.

“Nipples!” Malia says cheerfully. “And I have to say, they look beautiful. I’m gonna check the healing process every day, of course, but he says they feel great.” She bounces in place, clapping her hands excitedly. “He loves them.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Allison says, squeezing Malia in another hug. She blinks. “Wait, how are you gonna check _every day?_ ”

“And who’s _he?”_ Isaac demands. He stomps forward and grabs Malia by the shoulders, eyes wide. “Malia, did Stiles let you pierce his nipples?”

Malia sighs. “No.”

“Oh.” Isaac lets go, looking more than a little disappointed. Derek snorts at him and reaches for the next receipt.

“Scott did.”

The receipt slides out from between his fingers. It flutters down onto the desk like an errant petal disengaging from its flower, brittle and dry and the beginning of the end laid bare before prying eyes. He can’t quite figure out how to make his muscles work again. “Amazing,” Isaac says in a hushed whisper. “It’s like he’s frozen in time or something.” Allison holds up her phone and snaps a picture.

“This is even better than that time you showed him Scott’s tongue piercing,” Cora says, leaning her elbow on Malia’s knee. “I think you might’ve actually broken him this time.”

Malia swings her legs happily. “Don’t ask him to see them yet, okay?” she says, patting Derek’s hand. The touch finally sparks his limbs back into motion, and he snatches up the receipt with a glare. “’Cause it’s still kind of puffy – nothing _bad_ , I mean, I did a pretty excellent job-”

“So humble,” Allison snorts.

Malia elbows her with a grin. “But it’ll look even better when it’s more healed, okay? So don’t ask him until next week.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to ask him to show me his nipples just so I can see your piercing job.”

They stare at him with varying degrees of pity. Cora just stares at him like he’s an idiot. “They’re just nipples, Derek,” she says. “Everyone has them.”

“You’ve seen his nipples hundreds of times by now,” Allison points out. “You saw them yesterday when Erica stuffed snow down his shirt after lunch.”

“Plus, remember that time he pulled down his pants in front of you just because you wanted to see his anchor tattoo?” Malia adds.

“I didn’t know it was on his _hip!_ ” Derek protests. “I didn’t ask him to take off his pants!”

“Well, that’s why I warned you about the nipples this time around,” Malia says. “If you freak out that much about seeing a hip, I figure you’d need a warning for him flashing you his nipples.”

“You know, the longer you say the word ‘nipples,’ the less it starts to feel like a real word,” Isaac muses. “Anyone else reaching that point?”

“Yes,” Derek says firmly, latching onto an excuse to change the topic. “We should stop talking about nipples.”

“More specifically, Scott’s nipples,” Allison says, sharing a smirk with Malia.

“Hey, Derek, when he comes over, make sure to stare at his face and not his nipples,” Isaac says.

Derek glares. “I can fire you. I can fire all of you.”

“Well, you can’t actually fire me anymore,” Malia says, holding up her hand.

Derek rolls his eyes and grabs another receipt.

 

 

“You’re sure,” Scott says.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re _sure_.”

Derek laughs and pulls off his shirt. “Trust me, Scott, I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Scott sits down, checking over his equipment while Derek settles himself comfortably in the chair. Sunshine oozes through the shop’s windows and casts a gentle glow across his back. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m very sure,” Derek says, tilting his head to grin at Scott. “Do you harass every client this much before you give them a tattoo?”

“I’m not harassing you,” Scott says, rolling his eyes. Derek elbows him with a teasing chuckle. “And most clients haven’t told me before, at great length, how much they hate tattoos.”

“I never said _hate_ ,” Derek protests. “Intensely dislike. And besides, that was a decade ago.”

“You almost passed out last fall when you were watching Kira tattoo Malia’s leg.”

“Yeah, don’t laugh at me if I pass out today,” Derek says.

“I would never laugh at you to your face, Derek,” Scott says solemnly. “But I’m tattooing your back, so all bets are off.”

Derek drops his head onto the headrest with a snort. “I knew I should’ve asked Kira.” He leans his cheek onto his folded hands, watching Scott open a fresh needle. “Thanks for doing this,” he says, suddenly serious. “Especially…” He waves his hand at the empty shop and the slowly darkening sky.

“Of course,” Scott says. He starts wiping down Derek’s back. “We’ve been friends for half my life. If you want a secret after-hours tattoo session that no one else knows about, I’m happy to help.” Derek’s brows draw together in discomfort. “Is it too cold? I can shut the door.”

“No, that’s fine, the breeze is nice,” Derek says distractedly. He frowns. “Just…half your…we haven’t been friends _that_ long.” He looks up at Scott. “Have we?”

“I met you when I was ten,” Scott says, shrugging as he picks up the stencil. “Hold still. And I’m twenty-four now, so…longer than that, actually.”

Derek’s quiet while Scott applies the stencil, checking its placement in the mirror before lying back down on the chair. Scott watches the triskele shift across his muscles as he takes a deep breath. “When you left,” he begins, then shuts his mouth with a quiet sigh.

“Oh,” Scott says. His thumb rubs nervously over his ring before he realizes what he’s doing. “Well, I guess…I mean, I still considered you my friend, even though we didn’t really…see each other.”

“I did, too,” Derek says, and Scott lets out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “But I meant… _when_ you left.” He reaches out and taps the blueberries hidden beneath Scott’s glove. “When I gave you this.”

“Oh.” The memory rushes back to him abruptly, hot summer air and the sunset burning behind his eyelids and Derek cradling his face so soft and gentle. Six years. His thumb brushes the ring one last time before finally stilling. “…Oh.”

“Not so sure if that counted as friends anymore,” Derek says quietly.

“Yeah,” Scott says. He stares down at the ring for a long moment, then finally drags his eyes up to meet Derek’s gaze. He wets his lips to speak. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“I’m not.”

The words sink into his gut, a sharp sting that rapidly fades to a vague sort of ache. He could have… _they_ could have…but that was the past. That was a window missed, a door slammed shut and sealed up in a box that Scott still can’t bring himself to open. Derek stares back at him, unblinking and inscrutable, then he gently places his hand on Scott’s arm. “We weren’t ready, before,” he says. “But I’m not sorry about any of it.”

A sharp gust of air blows through the cracked-open door. He shivers as it cuts over his skin, stirring his hair and spreading the scent of sunshine and sweet flowers through the shop. Scott takes a deep breath, hand hovering over the triskele shining on Derek’s back. “Last chance,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. “Once we start, there’s no going back.”

“I know.” Derek nods. “Tattoos are permanent. That’s the point.”

He picks up the machine. “Just making sure you’re really okay with this on you.”

“It’s already there,” Derek says. He smiles, gaze dropping to the double bands circling Scott’s arm. “You just can’t see it yet.”

Scott ducks his head with a shy grin. The sunset pours through the shop windows and slips beneath his skin, spreading sweet warmth from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers. He moves closer to Derek and taps his back before stretching the skin taut beneath his hands. “Here we go.”

 

Allison twists a ribbon around a cluster of plumerias and adds them to the growing pile of table decorations. She lets out a gusty sigh. “I can’t believe Erica and Boyd are getting _married_.”

“I can’t believe you roped half the tattoo shop into doing your dirty work,” Malia retorts from the other end of the work bench. She brushes a clump of dirt off the table and glares at Derek. “Literally.”

“You used to work here,” Derek points out before turning back to the bouquet in front of him. It’s almost perfect, but something about it feels just slightly off.

“And I don’t anymore,” Malia says. She pins another sprig of Queen Anne’s lace to a seating card and makes a face at the pile next to her. “Scott, you move so slow.”

“Hey, _I_ never actually worked here,” Scott says. He holds a single sprig right in front of his face and carefully trims its stem. “Cut me some slack.”

Malia lets out a heavy sigh at his pile, less than half the size of her own. Derek ducks behind the bouquet to hide his grin. “Why don’t you help Isaac with the corsages instead?”

“No,” Isaac says loudly. He glances up from his corner of the table, looking slightly guilty. “No offense, Scott. It’s just – I have a system, and I already taught Braeden how to do the boutonnieres, and…”

“It’s fine,” Scott says, holding up his hands with a laugh. “I’m not cut out for the floristry business.”

“You’re doing great, Scott,” Derek says. He frowns at the bouquet and misses the amused eyeroll that passes around the work bench. “Isaac, what’s wrong with this?”

“You scrapped the old bouquet at the last minute and now you’re scrambling, that’s what’s wrong,” Malia pipes up.

“This was the original design Erica wanted,” Derek says. “The other bouquet was just because we thought we wouldn’t be able to get enough star dahlias this early in the season, but then Boyd’s family _got_ the dahlias and-”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Isaac says, waving a hand as he stands up. “Braeden, don’t let Scott help you with the boutonnieres. He’ll do them wrong.”

“Be nice, guys,” Allison says. “I really appreciated your help with finishing the seating cards, Scott.”

Scott makes a face at the card in his hand before carefully attaching some Queen Anne’s lace. “My handwriting doesn’t look anything like yours, though.”

“Hey, I can’t tell the difference,” Braeden says. “They look great.”

“They’d look even greater if we didn’t have to redo the entire wedding party at the same time,” Malia huffs. “I know, I know, last minute flowers. I’m just saying.” She moves to sit next to Braeden. “I don’t like rush jobs.”

“Don’t touch my corsages!” Isaac yells over his shoulder. He takes out the phloxes and replaces them with stephanotises. “It’ll look better with her dress like that.”

“Yeah.” Derek circles the bouquet, nodding slowly. “Yeah, much better.”

Scott pins a sprig onto the last seating card and turns around in his chair. “Crisis averted?” he asks cheerfully, then his mouth falls open when he sees the bouquet. “…Whoa.”

Derek chews his lip, suddenly feeling his cheeks heat. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” Scott says, grinning at the flowers. He looks up at Derek. “Erica came up with this?”

“Well, um.” He wipes his hands on his jeans, suddenly self-conscious. He doesn’t really understand why; the rest of the table have already returned to their own conversations, and Scott is the only one still looking at him. Or maybe it’s _because_ Scott is the only one still looking at him. “She had some flowers in mind that she wanted included, and I brought up a few others, and she picked the ribbon…”

“So you designed this all on your own,” Scott says.

“I mean, Isaac fixed the stepha-”

“You’re really good at this.” Scott steps closer, grinning down at the flowers. “You just – there’s something about how you put these together that makes me feel something when I look at them.”

He ducks his head, cheeks burning. Hopefully the room’s bright fluorescent lights don’t make it too obvious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, I look at this and I feel…bright, and joyful, and something about it makes me think about looking forward,” Scott says, tilting his head at the bouquet. “And above all, it feels like love. Deep, solid, unshakeable, love, like…”

“Like an anchor,” Derek supplies.

“Yeah, like that.” Scott laughs a little. “Or like…roots. Really deep, really strong tree roots that took years and years to grow.” He smiles. “That’s pretty fitting, since it’s Boyd and Erica.”

Six years. “Yeah,” Derek says. “It really is.” Scott looks back at the flowers, smile fading a little, and Derek frowns. “Something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Scott says, shaking his head quickly. “You’re just so good at saying things with these. It’s what made me slow down and notice the shop, actually, the first time we met.”

“Really?” He leans down to wrap a ribbon around the bouquet. “I sucked back then, though.”

“Nah, you were amazing,” Scott says loyally. “I mean, you’re even better now, but you’ve always been amazing at this.” He grins at the bouquet one last time. “If someone ever gave me flowers from your shop, I’d probably love them forever.”

Derek finishes tying the ribbon and slowly straightens. “Flowers don’t last very long,” he says.

“I know,” Scott says, shrugging. “That’s the point. Nothing lasts forever. You just have to make the most of it while it’s there.”

Derek nods, looking down at the discarded phloxes next to the bouquet. He ties a spare piece of ribbon around them and holds out the makeshift bouquet to Scott. “For you.”

Scott accepts it with a soft smile. “Thanks,” he says, tilting the bouquet close to his face to breathe in its scent. “I’ve always loved phloxes.”

Derek nods as Scott sits back down at the table with the others. “Yeah,” he says quietly to himself. He watches Malia drape a wreath of leftover Queen Anne’s lace onto Scott’s head while the table erupts in laughter. Derek’s back tingles, his shirt sliding over nearly-healed skin and dark ink settled just beneath the surface. “I know.”

 

Scott makes the mistake of looking up when the front door opens, and instantly regrets it when the morning sun shines in his face. The morning sun isn’t even visible through the shop’s west-facing door, but it’s somehow found a way to shine in his face anyway, with its brightness and its shininess and so much _light_. He winces quietly and tries to hide behind his chair. “What’re you doing here, Lydia?”

Lydia stomps past Scott and drops into her chair. “Cora had to go to work,” she rasps from behind giant sunglasses that cover half of her face. “She made me drive her here.”

Scott laughs, then immediately regrets it when his head throbs. “We should just close after lunch,” he says. “No one’s here.” The phone rings shrilly from the office, and he makes a face. “ _Stiles_ isn’t here.”

“If Stiles isn’t here to manage the office, the phone is going to keep ringing,” Lydia says gravely. “It’s not worth it.”

“Exactly.”

Lydia sighs. “I can’t believe he actually danced with Isaac at the wedding.”

“I can’t believe he actually _asked_ Isaac to dance with him at the wedding.”

Lydia nods fervently, then slowly leans her head into a hand with a wince. “Ow. Ow. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re both a bunch of babies,” Kira says, slamming the office door behind her. Or, well, she closes it gently, but it _sounds_ an awful lot like a slam. “Could you try to look a little less dead? That call was my eleven-thirty; I don’t want to scare him away.”

The scent of black tea wafts towards him. Scott grabs the cup eagerly from Kira’s hand and burns half his tongue as he slurps it down. “Why’d you schedule any appointments for today?” Lydia asks her from behind her own latte. “Even Braeden cleared her schedule for the day after the wedding.”

“The Reyeses know how to party,” Scott mumbles around his scalded tongue.

“Well, I don’t get hangovers,” Kira says primly. Lydia scowls at her. “And it’s not an appointment, it’s an interview.” She drags a stool between their stations and sits down, spinning back and forth. Scott fights off a sudden wave of motion sickness and gulps down more tea. “Remember? When we decided last month that we needed someone to handle reception now that Malia’s busy with clients?”

“Right.” He almost nods, then thinks better of it. “You already found one?”

“Well, he found us,” Kira says. “And Melissa works with his dad, she says he’s a good kid-”

“You’re interviewing a kid?” Lydia asks.

“He’s almost twenty-one,” Kira says, rolling her eyes. “Graduating in the fall, but he said his class schedule’s pretty open.”

“But you haven’t interviewed him yet,” Scott says, frowning.

“I’m his second interview,” Kira says. “His first one was with Stiles.”

Scott and Lydia wince at each other. “Well, if he survived _that_ ,” Lydia says, and picks up her latte. “We’ll make ourselves scarce so we can actually keep him.”

“You don’t have to hide,” Kira snorts. “Just…look a little more functional. And if he shows up early, be nice.”

“I’m always nice!” Lydia protests as Kira disappears into the office.

Scott winces. “Too shrill.”

“I’m always nice when I’m not hungover,” Lydia amends. She glances at her work table with a sigh. “I should work on Jordan’s back piece,” she says, and then doesn’t move at all.

“…Do you want me to set up your table for you?” Scott asks after several seconds pass.

“That would be _wonderful_.”

“Well, I’m not doing it.”

“ _Scott_ ,” Lydia whines, then promptly gives up. “…I probably wasn’t going to draw anything anyway.”

Kira reappears in the office doorway. “Do you think we can hide this somewhere?” she asks, holding up a barely-conscious Malia.

Scott squints. “…Has she been sleeping on the office couch this whole time?” Lydia asks.

“Didn’t want to leave my fiancée all alone at work,” Malia says, nodding to herself without actually opening her eyes.

“And I really appreciate that, but you’re gonna freak out the new guy if he sees you passed out on the couch.” Kira pats Malia’s back and starts shuffling her towards Braeden’s room. Scott and Lydia jump up – or, well, stumble upright with all the grace of a three-legged deer – to help her.

Malia grumbles. “He’s not the new guy yet, Kira.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a good feeling about this Liam guy,” Kira says. They maneuver Malia into the chair, where she promptly curls into a ball. Kira drops a soft kiss onto her nose and heads out of the room. “I say we get lunch and go home after I’m done,” she tosses over her shoulder. “I knew you guys would be useless today, but this is just pathetic.”

Lydia pouts after her. “I wish _I_ could be immune to hangovers,” she mutters, sinking down into another chair. Her phone pings with a text, and she frowns at the screen through her sunglasses. “I can’t read this. Help.”

Scott takes her phone and squints carefully at the bright screen. “It’s from Allison,” he says after parsing his way through numerous emojis. “Making sure you’re still free to help her and Braeden go furniture shopping this weekend.” The phone pings with a new text. “Oh, and to ask Scott to help move heavy things.” Another ping. “And to ask Scott to ask Derek to help move heavy things.” He looks up with a sigh. “Sounds like a fun weekend.”

“I’m good at moving heavy things,” Malia mumbles, then her eyes snap open. “Not that I’m volunteering to help move heavy things,” she adds quickly. “Moving is a pain in the ass.”

“Their new place has two floors,” Lydia says. “One of those half-flight stairs where you have to stop and pivot everything halfway up.”

Malia settles back down in the chair with a shudder. “ _Definitely_ not volunteering to help move heavy things,” she says. “I’ll carry potted plants or something.”

Scott mashes out a typo-addled reply and hands over Lydia’s phone. “I can’t believe Allison and Braeden bought a _house_ together.”

“Well, more like Allison’s dad insisted on buying them a house,” Lydia says. “But yeah, I get what you mean. It’s a big step.”

“It’s a _house_ ,” Scott says. “It’s…it’s a house, you know?”

“We get it, it’s a house,” Malia says.

Scott laughs. “I just mean…it feels so permanent. It’s not just renting an apartment, it’s owning a _house_ , with repairs, and renovations, and…”

“Lots more furniture?” Lydia adds with a grin.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “You don’t just live there, you…you _live_ there.” He shrugs. “Sorry, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, no, I get it,” Malia says, sitting up in Braeden’s chair. “The emergency exit’s gone. You can’t just pack up and leave at the end of your lease. With a house, you’re kinda stuck. It’s _yours_.”

Scott nods, staring down at his tea. “Yeah. I guess I just…can’t really imagine that.”

Lydia tilts her head, smiling softly as Scott. “Remember the end of college? When we had to move out? It took me _forever_ to pack, I kept finding stuff all over the place and mixed in with your stuff…but you were all packed up and ready to go after, like, a single day.”

“Yeah.” Scott smiles at the memory. “You kind of sucked at packing.”

“And you kind of sucked at unpacking,” Lydia says. “I mean, you _are_ way better at packing than I am, I always bring too much stuff,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “But you always had a few unpacked boxes from home in your closet. They were still there when it was time for us to move. You didn’t even have to tape them up again.” She shrugs. “Houses are about unpacking.”

“Settling down,” Malia adds. “Weighing anchor.”

“Putting down roots,” Scott says, rubbing at the tree branch reaching up the back of his neck. He still has boxes sitting in his closet now, scissors waiting sharp and unused on his desk. And rolls and rolls of half-used packing tape. But now, maybe…maybe. The morning sun shines through the window and falls across his ring, and he blinks away blueberry-shaped sunspots from his eyes. “Yeah.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Cora leans over the front desk. “Derek,” she drawls, “you know we all share the office computer.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “And?”

“So, you know we can see everyone’s browser history.”

“Oops, my bad,” Isaac calls from stacking teddy bears onto the shelves across the room.

Derek ignores him. “And?”

Cora shrugs. “I mean, it’s just kind of hilarious when a _florist_ of all people Googles, ‘what is an acceptable reason to give someone a bouquet.’”

The box of teddy bears drops to the floor, closely followed by Isaac himself. “Could you not do that in front of the door,” Derek says while Isaac rolls on the floor in laughter.

Isaac crab-walks to the front desk and collapses against it, still laughing. “No, it’s cute,” he says, struggling to his feet while he catches his breath. “‘Dear Google, how do I tell someone I like them without them actually finding out I like them?’ Did you try Yahoo Answers?”

Derek glares. “No,” he says mulishly, which for some reason sets off Isaac into another fit of laughter.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Cora asks. “Just ask him out. It’s not that hard.”

“I can deliver the note in English class if you wanna do the whole ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no’ thing,” Isaac offers.

Derek flicks his ear. “It’s not about that,” he says while Isaac rubs his ear petulantly. “It’s…he _made_ that.” He points at the painting behind the desk, the king protea catching the sun’s afternoon glow and the wisterias blooming out of the canvas. “And he made the one before that, and…he’s always making things for m – for us, putting his own thoughts and effort into it, and I…wanted to do that for him. Just once.”

Cora and Isaac blink at him, then at each other, then back at him. “That’s so sweet I think I just got a cavity,” Isaac says.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not good at anything but flowers, so.” He shrugs. “That’s all I can really make for him. It’s not because I…”

“Am pathetically in love with him?” Cora asks. She and Isaac glance at each other. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“What’s that?”

Scott glances up to see Liam lingering in the hall, broom clasped loosely in his hand as he all but leans through the doorway. “Making needles,” he says, putting the soldering gun back in its stand. “Wanna see?”

“Yeah!” Liam quickly stows the broom in the supply closet and hurries into the room, sitting down next to Scott. “Wow, that is so cool.”

“It’s really not,” Scott says with a laugh. “Pretty tedious, actually. Here.” He hands Liam an eye loupe and holds up a needle group. “Do you know the different needle types?”

Liam nods, peering at the tips through the eye loupe. “That’s a mag, right? Weaved mag?”

“Right.” Scott hands Liam a second needle group. “What about this one?”

“Curved mag,” Liam says immediately. “The arc makes it pretty obvious.” He frowns, squinting closer at the tips. “One of them looks kind of bent.”

“It’s _very_ bent,” Scott says, taking back the needle groups. “I messed up when I was soldering them together.” He tosses the curved mag into the sharps container. “It’d tear the hell out of the skin if you tried to use it, so always make sure to check the tips before you use them.”

“Definitely,” Liam says, nodding firmly as he watches Scott solder the weaved mag to a needle bar. “How often do you have to make these needles?”

“Every couple weeks,” Scott says. He puts away the last needle and starts cleaning up the table. “You want me to let you know the next time I do, so you can watch?”

Liam beams. “That’d be awesome!”

Scott laughs. “I’m warning you, it’s very boring. I’m sure you’ve heard Lydia complaining about it before.”

“Yeah, but it’s part of it, right?” Liam shrugs. “I’d like to learn. If that’s okay with you.”

Scott opens his mouth to answer, but – “ _Whoa,”_ Kira’s voice echoes loudly from the front of the shop.

“That was weird,” Liam says, glancing at the door. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

Malia appears in the doorway, quickly leaning out of the way as Liam scampers by. “I knew it!” she crows. “You _are_ training him!”

“What?” Scott shuts off the room’s lights and locks the door behind them. “No, he just came by while I was finishing up with the needles.”

“You taught him how to use the autoclave last month.”

“Everyone in the shop knows how to use the autoclave.”

“ _And_ you let him sit in on all of Brett’s chest piece sessions.”

“Brett didn’t mind having him around. They actually talked to each other a lot more than they did to me, except for when they had questions about…” Scott pauses in the hallway, then turns to face Malia. “…have I been accidentally training him this whole time?”

Malia pats his arm. “Why do you think Kira hired him instead of just a regular receptionist?” she says. “Oh, and Derek came by with something for you, but you were still in the back making needles, so-”

 _“What?”_ Scott runs – no, no, not runs, just briskly walks to the front of the shop. He skids to an abrupt stop when he sees Derek still standing in the middle of the reception. “Oh, uh – hi, Derek.”

Derek smiles, cheeks pink under the shop’s bright lights. He seems nervous for some reason, shoulders tense and neck tight, but his eyes soften as they meet Scott’s. “Hey, Scott.”

Malia drops onto the reception’s couch, raising an eyebrow at Scott over Derek’s shoulder. Scott quickly tries to tamp down the embarrassing smile that’s undoubtedly taken over his face. “So, um, what brings you…” he begins, then finally notices the arrangement in Derek’s hands. “…Whoa.”

“Oh!” Derek looks down at the arrangement. “Yeah, um, it’s, uh…”

“It’s beautiful.”

“…um,” Derek says. He clutches the vase a little closer to his chest, and the tip of a sunflower brushes his bottom lip. “You really think so?”

He can’t take his eyes off the arrangement, the forget-me-nots sprinkled like star-shaped patches of the summer sky and the bauble-shaped blueberry blossoms shining whiter than the gold on his ring. The flower at the arrangement’s center glows impossibly warm under the shop lights, white-tipped petals burning from deep crimson to molten yellow like a living ember. Scott doesn’t know what the flowers mean, what occasion they could possibly be for, but something about arrangement burrows deep into his chest, stabbing sharp and soothing and so very enthralling. “I love it,” he hears himself say, then finally drags his eyes away from the flowers. “I think this is my favorite one yet.”

Derek’s face breaks into a smile, shining and bright with blood pooling in the tips of his ears. “Really?” he says, then ducks his head quickly. “I mean, um, good. I’m glad you…they’re for you.”

He stares as Derek holds out the arrangement. “Seriously?” he asks, even as his hands close around the vase. He grins down at the flowers, resisting the urge to do something stupid like bury his face in them. “Why?”

“Because,” Derek begins, then stops. His feet shuffle awkwardly, and his entire face flushes. “I, uh, you’ve always made things for me,” he says determinedly to the floor, “and I thought, I could, well.”

“Derek,” he begins, shaking his head helplessly. He can’t stop smiling, cheeks aching with warmth spreading across his chest. He wants to press the flowers into his skin, plant them in his heart to stay there forever. “You made this…for _me?_ ”

Derek’s eyes widen in something like panic. “For your shop!” he says quickly. “’Cause, um, I know the shop’s anniversary is coming up, so I thought.” He gestures lamely at the bouquet. “It could brighten up the place for a few days.”

“Oh,” Scott says. For a moment, he’d thought…he pushes down the disappointment that congeals sharp and itchy under his skin. “Yeah, it definitely adds a lot of color to the place.” He quickly sets it on the front desk, wincing when the glass vase clanks too loud against the wood. He lets go slowly and turns back to Derek. “They really are beautiful,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Derek says voice strained. They stare not quite at each other for a long moment, awkwardness winding tighter and tighter between them – and then a loud sneeze stabs through the air.

“Sorry!” Kira says quickly when they turn towards the sound. She grabs a tissue from the end table and sneezes again while Malia pats her back. “Allergies.”

Scott frowns. “You never get allergies.”

“Yeah,” Kira says, rubbing her eyes. “Up until a few minutes ago, I was – man, my eyes won’t stop _itching_.”

Liam squints at Kira. “What – _oh_.” He looks up at Scott, voice pitching louder. “Oh, I think she’s allergic to the flowers!”

Scott looks back at the flowers. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, I didn’t think-”

“It’s the, um,” Kira says. “I’m so allergic to them, the, uh-”

“That one!” Malia interjects, pointing at the red flower at the center of the bouquet. “The dahlia, she’s allergic to the dahlia.”

“That one,” Kira says, nodding. “I get it from my dad, it’s terrible.”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Derek says, face falling. He reaches for the vase. “I’ll take it back, I didn’t mean to-”

Kira and Malia glance at each other, then turn back to Derek. “Well, Scott’s not allergic to them,” Kira says quickly. “So he can still have them.”

“But I can’t keep them in the shop if they make you sneeze-”

“You could take them home!” Liam says. “Actually, you _should_. You have to.” He crosses his arms, nodding firmly. “Because Kira’s super allergic.”

Kira nods, rubbing her nose with a tissue. “So allergic.”

“But-” Scott looks back at the flowers. “I don’t know how to take care of them.”

Kira squints at him. “They’re _flowers_ , not a-” Malia shoves the box of tissues into her chest. “-I mean, Derek could show you how to…take…care of them?” She frowns at Malia, who nods excitedly.

“Yeah!” Malia says. “I mean, you have to know how to trim the stems, and the plant food, and you have to keep them in just the right amount of sunlight…there’s a lot to it.” She nods solemnly. “I think you should help him, Derek. You should both just go do that right now.”

“Right now?” Scott and Derek repeat in unison.

“ _Super_ allergic,” Kira mumbles into her tissue.

“Yeah, and I can close up after my five o’clock,” Malia says. “You were heading out anyway, right, Scott? So you should just take the flowers with you because, you know, Kira’s allergic.” She nods. “Super allergic.”

Kira nods, wiping her entire face with a fresh tissue. “ _So_ allergic.”

“Um.” Scott glances at the flowers, then at Derek, then carefully lifts the vase from the desk. “Yeah, um, I’ll see you guys tomorrow, I guess, then.”

“Monday,” Kira clarifies. “’Cause, you know, it’s Friday.” She sniffs loudly into her tissue.

“Right.” Scott nods. “Then I’ll, um, I’ll see you on Monday.” He nods again. “Right.” ~~~~

Derek follows him out the door, hands jammed awkwardly into his pockets. “I’m really sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I didn’t even know Kira had flower allergies.” Scott says, shrugging. “I could’ve sworn there were dahlias at the gardens she took me to in New York.”

“There’s lots of different kinds,” Derek says. His hands are still jammed tight and awkward in his pockets, shoulders hunched around his ears. “And there’s regional differences, and…I should’ve known, I’m sorry.”

“Well…” Scott looks down at the flowers. “I’m kind of glad I get to keep this.”

Derek looks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, nodding. He clears his throat as they stop in front of the flower shop. “Um, you don’t have to…all that stuff Malia said…if you don’t want.”

Derek laughs softly. “Actually, I was already on my way out, just have to go grab my stuff, so. It’s, uh, it’s no trouble.”

“Oh!” Scott grins. “Oh, then, yeah, that’d be awesome.”

“Plus, you really shouldn’t drive those home on your motorcycle,” Derek says, nodding at the flowers. “So I should drive them over for you.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Scott holds out the arrangement.

Derek laughs again. “I have to get my stuff first,” he says, jerking his thumb at the door.

“Right.” Scott retracts his arms. “Right. I’ll just wait here, then.”

“I’ll be right back.” Derek smiles at Scott, then at the flowers, then disappears inside the shop.

Scott hugs the vase to his chest and hides his smile behind the flowers. Derek gave this to him. He chose each flower with him in mind – well, the shop, but also him. For him. Just for him. And the shop. But also him. He bounces on his toes and tries to school his face into a slightly less pathetic smile when Derek comes back, keys jangling in hand to follow Scott to his apartment.

 

“You okay, Derek?”

Erica’s face swims slowly into focus, blonde hair tucked into a crown of forsythias – fresh from Boyd’s flower farm, he can smell the difference – and eyes wide with concern. “You’re looking a little out of it,” she says, floating in a backdrop of buttery blue haze – oh, no, that’s just the shop’s front windows.

Wow, maybe he really _is_ out of it.

“I’m fine,” he means to say, but instead what comes out is, “He has a garden.”

Erica’s brows twitch up, half-concerned and half-amused. “Come again?”

“Rooftop garden,” Derek clarifies (although, judging by Erica’s eyebrows, it wasn’t a very good clarification). “His apartment building has a rooftop garden. He grows tomatoes and sugar snap peas and jalapeño peppers. And _blueberries_. In his garden.”

Erica blinks, brows knitting together, and then her face clears. “Oh! You’re talking about Scott!”

“He has a _garden_ ,” Derek wails, and drops his head onto the desk with a loud thunk.

“What’s wrong with Derek?” Cora’s voice asks.

Erica pets his head soothingly, because she is the kind-hearted sister that Derek was always meant to have, and had clearly been swapped at birth with Cora. “Scott showed him his garden.”

“Oh.” A notebook drops down next to Derek’s head. “You didn’t know Scott had a garden?”

He shoots up from the desk so fast that his neck muscles twinge in protest. “You _did?_ ”

“He buys seeds from the Boyds’ farm every season,” Erica says, mouth quirking into a partially sympathetic but mostly amused smile. “His mom’s been doing that since before we were born; he probably picked up gardening from her. I thought you knew that.”

Derek most definitely did not. “He grows _vegetables_ ,” he says, and wishes it didn’t come out sounding quite so plaintive.

He’s being ridiculous, he knows. But…Scott has a _garden_. He _grows_ vegetables, fruits, plants setting down roots deep into solid ground. And as Derek had stood on the roof on Scott’s apartment, fresh blueberries bursting sweet and sharp on his tongue while Scott smiled crooked and warm under the bright summer moon, he’d felt…Derek shakes his head, glancing at the northern wall with the tattoo shop on the other side. Something settles in his chest, solid and steady like an anchor steadying him in place. It had felt _right_.

Cora pets his head. Or, well, she tries to pet his head, but it ends up feeling more like being repeatedly slapped on the skull. “You’re hopeless, Derek.”

 

“Whatcha drawing?”

Scott quickly drops his planner over the sketch in front of him. “Nothing.”

“Aw, come on.” Stiles leans closer, then frowns when Scott buries the sketch under a pile of notebooks. “Hey, what gives?”

“It’s not done yet,” Scott says. He brushes stray eraser shavings off his work table. “I just don’t want anyone looking at it yet.”

Stiles stares down at him, lips pressed together in an affronted pout. “You’ve never hidden your art from me, Scott,” he says. “ _Never_.”

Scott sets down his pencil and looks up at Stiles. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says innocently as he sits down. “Just, uh, your ten o’clock tomorrow is now going to be at twelve-thirty instead.”

“Okay, I’ll take an early lunch, then,” Scott says with a shrug. He starts to make a mental note to tell Derek about the lunchtime change before he remembers that Derek isn’t exactly talking to him right now. “Wait, isn’t scheduling supposed to be Liam’s job?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, but this guy’s coming from Auburn. I figure I’ll handle the long-distance appointments for now.”

“Long-distance?” Scott repeats. “Yeah, I guess a few hours’ drive is pretty long-distance.”

“A few hours?” Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Oh, no, he’s not coming from Auburn, California. He’s coming from Auburn, _Washington_.”

Scott blinks, opens his mouth, then blinks some more. “Does he just really hate every tattoo shop in Washington? …And Oregon?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, then shrugs. “Well, maybe. But he just really wants to get tattooed by the infamous Scott McCall.”

“Famous,” Braeden corrects from the reception couch. “Not infamous. Scott’s known for good things, not bad stuff.”

Scott shakes his head. “I’m not _famous_.”

Stiles tilts his head. “You kind of are. I mean, you and Lydia are booked solid for your New York trip next week.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Oh, speaking of New York!” Lydia pushes Stiles out of the way and sits down next to Scott. “Go away, Stiles. Me and Scott need to talk about New York.”

“What more do you have to talk about?” Braeden asks, making a face around her sandwich. “You’ve been talking about the convention all week.”

“And now we need to talk about what we’re doing when we’re _not_ at the convention,” Lydia says. “We’re going to be there for a week; there’s so much we can do.”

Cora squashes onto the stool next to Lydia. “I wanna meet your weird art school friends,” she says. “And I want to climb the Statue of Liberty. …Oh, come on,” she says at Scott and Lydia’s nonplussed stares. “It’s my first time in New York! I _have_ to see the Statue of Liberty.”

“Fine,” Lydia says. “We’ll go to the Statue of Liberty. And I promise we won’t third wheel you when we’re sightseeing, Scott. We’re not that kind of couple.” She narrows her eyes at Braeden. “Unlike _some_ people.”

Braeden snorts. “Did we or did we not invite you to come with us?” she says. “You third wheeled yourself.”

“Who goes surfing in the middle of a storm?” Lydia shrills.

Cora edges closer to Scott while Lydia and Braeden bicker. “Sounds like it’s going to be a really fun trip,” she says, tucking her feet onto the stool’s footrest. “An entire week of tattoos and sightseeing and shopping.”

“Lots of shopping,” Scott says, glancing at Lydia. “I might third wheel myself just to catch a break.”

“Don’t you dare.” Cora elbows his side. “I’m going with you to your little convention thing, you better help me carry Lydia’s bags.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott says, dodging her jabs. “You’re really going to love New York. It’s a great city.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing if it lives up to the hype, after you and Lydia talked it up for so long,” Cora says. She shifts her weight on the stool. “You ever think you’ll move back there?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head easily. “I love it there, I’ll always love going there, but…it’s not home. Besides,” he adds, “Everyone I love best is here. I couldn’t leave my family.”

Cora huffs out a soft laugh. “Yeah, especially not after you convinced half of them to follow you across the country to a tiny little town where nothing ever happens.” She glances over at Lydia, a fond smile curling at the edges of her mouth. “I’m really glad that you did.”

“I am, too.” He really is. It had all seemed like lucky coincidence at the time, Noshiko’s retirement and Deaton’s old shop looking for new tenants. Back then, he’d never really known if he’d ever go back to Beacon Hills, but now…it scares him a little, how very _right_ it all feels. He can’t imagine being in a different shop, can’t imagine working with anyone else…can’t imagine not being next door to the flower shop.

And Derek. For years, Scott had managed just fine without him, but now…now, he can’t imagine his life without Derek in it. When Derek had stood on the roof of his apartment, picking blueberries from Scott’s tiny garden and beaming bright and content under the warm summer moon, it had felt…right. Like everything was finally falling into place, tumbling right into his hands like sweet blueberries still warm from Derek’s touch. It had felt like everything he’d ever wanted, everything he hadn’t even known that he’d wanted, everything he could ever want. And it terrifies him just how much he _wants_ all of it.

Cora notices his abrupt silence. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I…” Scott begins, staring down at his half-finished sketch. He shakes his head. “Nothing. Sorry, I just kinda got stuck in my own head.”

Cora nods, tilting her head to peer down at the sketch. “Can I see?” He pushes the paper closer to her, and she stares down at it for a long moment. “Huh.”

“It’s, um.” His hands clasp around each other, spinning his ring nervously around his finger. “I just really liked…I thought it was really beautiful, so…”

Cora’s hand hovers over the page, tracing the petals with her fingers. “You know,” she says conversationally, “forget-me-nots are a symbol of true love.”

“What?” Scott’s mouth falls open, his entire body freezing as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. “I thought they meant remembrance. ‘Cause, I mean, it’s in the name.”

“It is,” Cora says, nodding. “They mean that, too. See, the story goes that a knight and his lady were walking along a river and saw these beautiful blue flowers. The knight picked them to give to her, but then he fell into the river and began to sink.” She makes a face. “Some of the stories say the current pulled him under, but in others, he was just wearing armor that was too heavy for him to swim in. So, moral of the story, don’t wear armor, I guess.”

Scott nods. “Duly noted.”

“Yeah.” Cora shrugs. “Anyway, right before he drowned, he threw her the flowers and shouted, ‘forget me not.’ And she wore those flowers in her hair until the day she died, and she never forgot him. Ever since, it’s been a symbol of true love.” She nudges him with a grin. “I guess Derek never told you that story, huh.”

“Well.” Scott shrugs jerkily. “He probably always just meant the general remembrance part of it. ‘Cause, um, flowers have so many meanings, and, y’know, it’s not like it’s a big deal. Um.”

Cora watches him for a long moment. “You know,” she finally says, “He never used to take lunch breaks until the day you invited him out for falafel.”

“Oh,” Scott says. _Oh_. He ducks his head, trying to push down the flare of hope that spikes sharp and warm across his chest. “He, uh, he invited me, actually.”

“Well, then,” Cora says. She stands, stretching lazily. “I’m not going to pretend I know what the heck goes on in my brother’s head, but I’m just telling you what I’ve seen.”

She walks back to join Lydia, who’s finally winding down from her argument with Braeden. Scott turns back to his work table and shuffles out the art that he’d been working on. He doesn’t quite understand what the flowers mean, why Derek arranged them the way he did and why Scott can’t seem to let any of it go. Flowers fade, that’s the point. It’s the memory that remains, the sentiment, the moment caught in time that can never be undone. His hand hovers over the forget-me-not at the upper-right corner of the arrangement, standing out bright and raw like skin laid bare before a needle. “Just can’t see it yet,” he murmurs to himself, and picks up the pen.

 

“Scott just left the shop,” Isaac calls from the front room. Derek glances down the hall to see him craning his neck at the window without even the slightest trace of subtlety.

He sighs and resumes sweeping the back room’s floor. “Stop staring. It’s rude.”

“But it’s already seven,” Isaac yells, probably loud enough to be heard through the glass windows. “I think he’s _leaving_ leaving.”

Stomps echo from down the hall, and then Cora sticks her head out of the office. “Isaac! _Shut up_.”

“But Scott’s _leaving_.”

“Oh.” Cora turns down the hall to look at Derek. “Hey. Isaac says Scott’s leaving.”

Derek shoves the broom into the closet. “Yeah. I heard him.” He brushes past her into the office to grab his jacket. “Ready to leave in five minutes? Maybe ten?”

Cora leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know he’s leaving for New York tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And he won’t be back for a week.”

“I _know_.”

Cora’s mouth slants into a judgmental frown. “You haven’t talked to him ever since you gave him those flowers. You know he’s come by during lunch every day this week? He thinks he did something wrong.”

Derek drops onto the couch. “Of course he didn’t do anything wrong. _I_ messed up. I just-” He shakes his head. “I’ll get over it.”

“Derek,” Cora says. “You can’t just keep running away from your problems by letting them leave first.” He stares down at his jacket, and Cora lets out a tired sigh. “Derek, don’t do this to him again.”

“He’s leaving!” Isaac yells from the front room. “No, wait – okay, he definitely saw me staring, he’s coming this way – no, no, he’s changing his mind, he’s doing that sad lip-biting thing, he’s taking out his keys-”

He springs to his feet before he even finishes registering Isaac’s words. Cora flattens herself against the doorframe as he dashes into the hall and through the front room. “Oh, good,” Isaac grins, then leaps out of the way with a yelp as Derek runs out the door.

Scott straightens as Derek skids to a stop between the shops, sliding over melted ice cream and nearly toppling into the bench. “Hey, Derek,” he says, fiddling awkwardly with his keys. They drop to the ground, and he quickly ducks down to grab them. “Uh.”

Every sense of confidence and intentions evaporate instantly from Derek’s mind. “I was just,” he stutters, clutching his jacket like a lifeline. “Heading home.”

“Yeah, uh, TGIF, right?” Scott says, laughing weakly. His brow creases. “I thought you drove here with Cora today,” he says, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

“I did,” Derek says, nodding while his mind races. “I’m just, you know, warming up the car while she packs up.” Belatedly, he remembers the warm autumn air and that Cora’s car keys are still sitting on the office desk. “…Yeah.”

“Makes sense,” Scott says. “I was just – I wanted to, um.” He reaches into the saddlebag of his motorcycle and pulls out a blue glass – a vase. The vase that Derek had given him, along with those damned flowers that meant too much. “Forgot to bring this back yesterday, and I wanted to make sure to before I left, um.” He holds it out at Derek. “Thank you. For the flowers.”

Derek clutches the vase in his hand, trying not to think of the long-gone flowers that he’d placed inside it the week before. Something small and dark sits at the bottom of the vase, and he blinks when cloth-wrapped keys tip into his hand. “What’s-”

“Oh,” Scott says. “I almost forgot. Uh, it’s a, uh, a spare key to my apartment.”

Derek’s eyes widen. “You’re giving me the spare key to your _apartment?_ ”

“Because I’m leaving!” Scott says quickly. He rubs the back of his neck. “And I was wondering if, um, if you’d be able to check on my garden while I was gone.”

“Oh.” Disappointment courses through him, though he can’t really see why. It wouldn’t make any sense for Scott to give him a spare key to his apartment just _because_. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Thanks!” Scott beams at Derek, visibly relaxing. “I was going to ask Isaac, but-”

“Oh god, he’d kill them.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, laughing softly. “Yeah, he knows his flowers, but not so much other plants. But I know you do, so…” He shrugs a little. “I know they’ll be in good hands.”

Derek nods, tucking the keys back into the vase. He stares down at it for a moment, fingers tracing the bubbles in the blue glass, then blurts out, “Did you really like the flowers?”

“Of course I did.” Scott smiles, and maybe it’s just a trick of the shops’ lights, but his cheeks seem to flush. “They really were my favorite of all your arrangements. And, uh, I’m not just saying that because you made it for me – my shop.”

His heart leaps. _For me_. Scott had said _for me_ , and he’d caught himself immediately but he’d said it all the same, he’d meant it, he’d…Derek takes a deep breath and meets Scott’s nervous gaze. “I didn’t make it for the shop.”

“Oh.” Scott’s face falls. He quickly pastes on a smile, but it looks sallow and brittle under the shops’ bright lights. “Well, um, I still think it’s-”

“It was for you,” Derek says. He swallows past a suddenly-dry throat, clutching the vase tight. “I made it for you, Scott.”

Scott’s breath stills. “You made it for me,” he repeats, slowly closing the distance between them. His lips curve into a hesitant smile. “For _me_.”

Derek nods, heart pounding into his throat as Scott’s hands cradle his around the vase. “Just for you. Only you.”

Scott beams. “Only you,” he murmurs, then leans up and presses their lips together.

The entire world drops away as Scott kisses him, narrowing down to cool glass between his hands and Scott’s palms curling soft and warm over his. Scott lifts a hand to Derek’s chest, leaning in closer, pressing tighter, eyelashes brushing over Derek’s cheeks like soft petals as fingers clench tight around his shirt.

Derek opens his eyes slowly, drawing back just enough to see Scott smiling bright and warm against the cooling autumn sky. A laugh bubbles through his throat, spilling past his lips and catching at the corners of Scott’s eyes, and he leans in to kiss Scott again.

Scott’s lips curl against his, frantic and relieved and deliriously happy. “You have the worst sense of timing,” he laughs while Derek noses along his jaw. “I’m flying to New York in the morning.”

“So go out to dinner with me,” Derek says. He presses a kiss to the corner of Scott’s smile. “Right now.”

Scott laughs, eyes squeezing and face scrunching and head tilting forward to knock against Derek’s. He catches his breath and smiles brighter than the sun shining in Derek’s eyes. “I’d love to.”

 

 

Scott leans forward eagerly as the webcam screen lights up – then sits back a little when Boyd’s face appears. “Oh,” he says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Hey, Boyd.”

“Yeah, I’m not Derek,” Boyd says. He leans towards the screen, and the walls behind him shift from eggshell beige to buttery yellow as he carries the laptop out of the office and down the hall. “He’s in the middle of a consultation right now. Christmas party. You know how it is.”

“Fun,” Scott says. “Cora’s going to _love_ stringing together all that mistletoe.”

Boyd laughs. The background finally settles behind him to a brightly lit window and clay pots stacked high in the sink. Isaac’s face tilts into view, sideways and smirking. “I am also not Derek,” he says. “How’s New York? Or, well-” He straightens, squinting at the screen. “-your hotel room in New York.”

“The hotel room’s great,” Scott says. “Really nice shampoo, soap with a leaf stuck in it and everything. New York’s okay, too.”

“Is it snowing?” Isaac asks. He crowds in closer to the screen, as if that could help him see more clearly out the window on Scott’s end.

Scott shakes his head. “It’s barely October, Isaac.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Isaac says, shrugging. “I thought it gets cold fast on the East Coast.” He squashes onto the work bench next to Boyd. “So, why’d you call?”

“Well.” Scott presses his lips together, trying and failing to look around the rest of the shop through the screen. “I had some free time, and I know it’s around lunchtime there, so I thought I’d…check in.”

Boyd nods reasonably. “For work purposes.”

“Exactly.”

“On Derek’s personal laptop.”

“Ye – well.” His mouth snaps shut. He tries to come up with a better explanation while Boyd and Isaac stifle their giggles – Boyd with far more success than Isaac – then blinks when he notices something different about Isaac’s neck. Namely, that he can actually see it. “Hey, where’s your scarf?”

“Huh?” Isaac glances down at his bare neck, then back up at the screen. “I don’t wear scarves _indoors_ , Scott.”

“Yes, you do,” Scott and Boyd say in unison.

“And besides, it’s barely October. That’s barely scarf weather.”

“It is for you,” Boyd says. He lifts an eyebrow, turning to face the screen. “You know, I thought I saw a blue scarf hanging on the tattoo shop’s coatrack on my way here.”

Scott smirks at Isaac’s slowly reddening face on the screen. “Oh, now, that’s adorable.”

“It’s not-” Isaac begins heatedly, then glares at the screen. “I must’ve forgotten it there last week, okay? It’s not like I _gave_ it to him or anything.”

“Okay,” Boyd says agreeably.

“Hey, where’d my laptop go?” a faint voice calls through the laptop, growing steadily louder as footsteps approach. “Boyd, have you – _hey!_ ”

Braying laughter jangles through the laptop as the webcam abruptly shifts to a dark red Henley with a familiar dip at the collar. A door slams shut, then the laptop finally stabilizes to show Derek’s face, slightly pink under the yellow office lights. “Sorry about that,” he says, glaring past the laptop before leaning closer with a soft smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Scott beams at Derek, sitting on his hands before he does something stupid like reach out and stroke the screen. “Glad I could catch you. It sounds kind of busy over there.”

“Oh, you know.” Derek shrugs. “Everyone’s getting ready for the holiday season.” He ducks his head abruptly, biting back a smile.

Scott leans closer. “What is it?”

“I just realized,” Derek says. He looks up at Scott, lip caught between his teeth. “When you get back, we have to start looking for ugly Christmas sweaters.”

“What?” Scott laughs. “You already have a ton of those, though.”

“Yeah, but we have to match this year,” Derek says. His face is almost as red as his shirt. “Family tradition.”

Scott blinks. Suddenly, Cora and Lydia’s hideously embarrassing Christmas photos from last year make a lot more sense. “Oh.”

“It’s a dumb tradition,” Derek mumbles.

“I’m happy to be a part of it,” Scott says, smiling at Derek. He hesitates, then adds, “Are we going to have to do that every year?”

Derek laughs. “No, just the first year; we’re home free after that.” He smiles at Scott for a long moment, eyes soft and warm, then says, “I miss you.”

His chest abruptly squeezes, warm and tingling and cutting his breath short. “I miss you, too,” he says. He looks down at the keyboard with a weak laugh. “I, uh, I actually called you just because I wanted see your face and hear your voice again.” He bites his lip. “Is that dumb?”

“No.” Derek shakes his head, a bright smile stretching across his face. “That’s not dumb at all, Scott.”

The door clicks open behind him, and Cora and Lydia burst through in a flurry of shopping bags. “I can’t believe you left me alone with her in SoHo, Scott-” Cora begins, then rolls her eyes when she sees his laptop screen. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Timezone difference!” Scott says, gesturing at his laptop. On the screen, Derek hides his mouth behind his hand. “I just wanted to check in on things!”

“Sure you did, Scott,” Lydia says. She leans closer to the screen, hands propped on her hips. “He’s only been gone for _three days_ , Derek.”

Derek drops his hand from his mouth, grinning toothily at Lydia. “What can I say? I missed my boyfriend.”

 _Boyfriend_. The warmth in his chest blooms through his entire core and shoots down to the tips of his fingers while his face heats with a smile. Cora sighs long-sufferingly at him and leans down towards the screen. “Goodbye, Derek.”

“Bye, Scott,” Derek calls, craning his neck in a futile attempt to look past the women on Scott’s end.

Scott nudges Cora’s head out of the way and waves at Derek. “Bye, boyfriend.”

Derek beams, pink-cheeked and starry-eyed, and then Lydia ends the call. She shuts Scott’s laptop and sighs at him. “You two are ridiculous.”

“You really can’t talk,” Scott says. He can’t stop smiling. “How was SoHo?”

Cora seizes him by the shoulders. “Why did you leave me there with her?” she demands, eyes wild. She flops back onto the bed. “So much shopping. All I did was carry the bags, and I’m exhausted.”

Lydia swats her arm gently. “Oh, hush. I found you a gorgeous leather jacket.” She turns to Scott. “They had a really nice men’s selection, too, if you want to check it out.”

“Yeah, Derek loves-” Scott begins eagerly, then sits back. “That’s too soon, isn’t it.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Cora flaps a hand from her sprawl on the bed. “Everyone knows your one-week anniversary is the Buy Your Significant Other A Leather Jacket anniversary.”

“Or you could just wait to give it to him for Christmas,” Lydia suggests. “Or, actually, you could do both.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Both?”

Lydia grins. “Two words, Scott: liquidation sale.”

Scott glances at Cora. “Both is good,” she says. “Besides, I know Lydia really wants to go back to get that purse she was eyeing. I put it on hold while you weren’t looking,” she adds to Lydia.

Lydia pulls Cora up for a kiss. “Best girlfriend ever.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and opens the door. “Come on, let’s go make you the best boyfriend ever.”

“Boyfriend,” Scott repeats to himself. It’s still so new, sending chills down his spine and tingling deep in his chest whenever he says the word out loud. It’s still so new, but it feels so solid, so steadying, so very _right_. He grins and follows Cora out the door.

It feels like coming home.

 

Derek finishes stacking vases on the shelf and bends to pick up the empty box, then pauses when he sees Erica staring at him from the front desk. “What?”

“You’re awfully calm,” Erica says, eyes narrowing. “Isaac, he’s too calm.”

“He’s been an emotional wreck this entire week; I’m not complaining,” Isaac says without looking up from the window displays. He frowns and moves a pot of succulents two inches to the left. “It stopped being funny three days ago.”

“I haven’t been an emotional _wreck_ ,” Derek says.

“You stared at your sandwich for ten minutes straight on Thursday because Scott wasn’t there to eat your pickle,” Isaac says. He turns quickly to Erica. “That’s not a euphemism. It’s an actual pickle. The diner cuts it into spears instead of slices, which, in my opinion, really adds a whole new dimension to the overall sandwich experience-”

“The point is,” Erica interrupts. “Scott’s flying in today. He’ll be back in Beacon Hills _tonight_. I thought you’d be counting down the minutes by now.”

“He was only gone for a week,” Derek says. “It really wasn’t that long.”

“You weren’t saying that on Thursday,” Isaac sighs. He leans against the front desk, squinting critically at Derek. “Erica’s right, though. After how you’ve been acting all week, you’re too calm.” He cranes his neck forward, narrowing his eyes to slits. “What do you know?”

“What?” Derek snorts, grabbing the empty box from the floor. “I didn’t do anything. Calm down.”

Erica and Isaac glance at each other, then back at Derek. “What did you do, Derek?” Erica asks.

“Nothing!” He crosses the room to take the box to the recycling out back, then pauses when their unblinking stares follow him like creepy sentient dolls. “Okay, but it’s just that, you know, he kept the vase that I gave him-”

“With the overly dramatic gesture with the flowers, yeah,” Isaac says, nodding.

Derek glares. “And, well, he’s keeping the vase, but it looked empty just sitting on his counter so I…put some flowers in it.”

Isaac groans. “Please don’t tell me you made a whole ‘nother arrangement for him.”

“Of course not,” Derek says. “We just had some leftover roses from that engagement party, so…”

Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up. “The red ones?”

He bites his lip. “That was too much, wasn’t it. It’s too soon.”

Erica tilts her head. “Does it feel like it’s too soon?”

It should. It should absolutely feel too soon; their first kiss was only a week ago. But instead, it feels _right_ , feels solid, feels… He looks up at the triskele hanging behind the desk, and the one on his back tingles warm and reassuring. “No. Not at all.”

Erica smiles. “Then it’s fine.”

“Besides, Scott’s a total sap,” Isaac adds. “He’ll probably cry when he sees them. In a good way, I mean.”

The front door jingles open, and Allison carefully edges her way inside with an armful of coffee cups. “ _Finally_ ,” Isaac exclaims, bounding forward to grab his frappuccino from her. “What took you so long?”

“Pumpkin spice season is no joke,” Allison says, handing over Erica’s cappuccino. She starts to hand Derek his cup, then pulls it back at the last moment. “Oh, Derek.”

His fingers close around thin air instead of a pumpkin spice white chocolate mocha. “Hey!”

“I just remembered I left something in the greenhouse,” Allison says, still holding the coffee out of reach. “Could you go get it for me?”

“Could you give me my coffee first?”

“No,” Allison says sweetly. “Because I need it now, and once I give you your coffee, you’ll be useless for at least ten minutes.” She jerks her head at Isaac and Erica. “They’re already lost causes.”

Derek sighs. “Fine. What is it?”

“It’s…my jacket,” Allison says. “My other jacket,” she adds when Derek frowns at her denim-clad arms. “I forgot which aisle I left it in, but you’ll see it, you can’t miss it.”

“I don’t get why you need it _now_ ,” Derek says, huffing as she nudges him down the hall.

“I just do! I know I left it in there, okay, I need it back.”

Derek opens the back door. “Hey, what does it look…” His voice abruptly dies in his throat when he steps fully into the greenhouse. “…like.”

Scott grins at him from between the lilacs and the stock flowers. “Surprise.”

His feet move before he remembers how to function, crowding in close and reaching up to cradle Scott’s face. “You’re back.”

Scott nods, skin shifting soft and warm under Derek’s palms. “Yeah.”

“I thought your flight wasn’t getting in until later tonight.”

Scott’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. He shrugs a little. “Surprise.”

Derek tilts their foreheads together, eyes sliding shut as he breathes in Scott’s scent. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Scott’s lips brush across his skin, pressing kisses along his cheeks and nose and finally meeting his lips. “Next time, I want you to come with me.”

His breath stills in his lungs. Scott pulls back quickly, watching him with worried eyes. “If that’s okay,” he clarifies quickly. “I didn’t mean you _have_ to or anything, I-”

Derek kisses him. “Next time,” he says, stroking Scott’s cheek with his thumb, “I want to go with you. And then we’ll come home together.”

Scott lets out a soft sigh, breath puffing across Derek’s face like the gentlest of breezes. His lips curve against Derek’s, warm and bright as the sun shining through the greenhouse glass. “Home.”

 

 

Kira drapes herself over the reception’s couch with a sigh. Or, more accurately, she drapes herself over Malia, who is already half-slumped over Scott on the reception’s couch. Her party hat jabs awkwardly into his chin, and he can’t move at all. “I can’t believe we’ve been here for three years,” she says.

“I can’t believe you ate an entire fruit tart all by yourself,” Malia mumbles into Scott’s armpit.

“The custard was really good,” Kira says. “Besides, Lydia ate half of the edible arrangement all by herself.” She props her chin on Malia’s shoulder to squint across the room at Lydia. “I never knew you liked honeydew that much.”

“Well, Cora,” Lydia begins, and then apparently gives up on trying to formulate a sentence. She drops her head back with a sigh, trailing her hand along a streamer dangling from the wall. “Three years. Did you guys think we’d ever make it this far?”

“Not a chance,” Stiles says immediately.

Liam whacks his arm and almost knocks him off the desk. “Well, _I_ did,” he says.

“You weren’t even here for the first two years,” Stiles retorts.

“Yes, because I only blinked into existence a year ago and I’d never heard of your shop before then.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just go back to eating your cream puffs, Liam.”

Liam makes a face at him. “Does Erica make these every year?” he asks around a mouthful of custard.

“Last year she made cupcakes,” Braeden says. “I think she likes trying out new recipes on us.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Liam says, cramming another cream puff into his mouth. “Oh, it’s almost five. I’ll go set up for Isaac’s appointment.”

“I’m training you for tattoos, not body piercings,” Scott says, nudging Malia and Kira off him as he stands. Malia rolls onto the floor with a groan.

Liam hops off the desk. “Yeah, but I know your setup and I’m still the shop apprentice,” he says. “Besides, I’ve never seen an orbital piercing before.”

Lydia slowly climbs to her feet. “I’ll start cleaning up,” she says. “Don’t want ants sneaking in to celebrate our three-year anniversary, too.”

Kira follows Scott to the desk. “Did you want to go over your design after Isaac’s appointment?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got it all down, but…”

“Nah, we can look it over tomorrow,” Scott says, shaking his head. “I think Derek said he was going to come over here with Isaac.”

“So he can watch and pretend to not freak out the whole time?” Malia asks, making a face. “Why does he keep doing that to himself?”

“He’s getting better,” Scott says. “He really doesn’t freak out _that_ bad.”

“He stares,” Malia retorts. “He stares and he doesn’t blink the entire time. It’s weird.”

“It’s Derek,” Kira says, as if that explains everything. (It does.) She tugs Malia to her feet. “Come on, help me clean up my station so we can go home.”

Braeden starts stacking the empty plates on the desk. “Three years,” she says, nudging Scott with a grin. “Back then, did you ever think you’d be where you are now?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Which part?” he asks, shaking his head. “There’s so much that…no, I guess. I guess I didn’t.”

“Me neither.” She leans against the desk, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of her jeans. “When I took this job, I never really thought…I didn’t think this would end up being somewhere I wanted to stay.”

“The shop?” Scott asks. “Or Beacon Hills?” _Or us_ , he doesn’t add. She knows what he means.

“All of it.” Braeden lets out a long sigh, grinning at Scott. “You know, I didn’t really start unpacking until after last year’s party,” she says. “I used to have so many boxes from all the other times I’d moved – some of them I wouldn’t even open before I moved again. But last year, after everyone was so happy that we were here, that we were _still_ here…” She shrugs. “It just finally felt like the right time. You know?”

He doesn’t know how that feels, not really. He nods, thinking of the boxes in his closet still taped shut from New York. “Yeah.”

Braeden nods. “You’ll get that feeling one day, Scott,” she says. “For the longest time, I never thought I would, but…you’ll get there one day.”

She claps him on the back, right over the deep-rooted tree inked into his skin, then grins before walking away to help Lydia clean up. Scott spins his ring around his finger, watching the blueberries blossom under the shop’s bright lights, and smiles quietly to himself. “One day.”

 

Derek sits down at Kira’s station and holds out a brown paper bag. “Lunch?”

She sits up, eyes widening eagerly. “I smell an avocado burger.”

“And sweet potato fries,” Derek adds, waving the bag under her nose. “Brett’s working the diner’s grill today, and I know you like his burgers the best.”

“Thank you!” Kira chirps, accepting the bag from him happily. “But I’m not telling you about Scott’s tattoo.”

His jaw drops. “What makes you think I’d be asking about that?”

“Oh, come on,” Kira says, rolling her eyes as she walks to the reception’s couch. “Bringing me lunch right when Scott’s conveniently busy with a private appointment? You’re even worse than him at being subtle.”

He slumps down next to her on the couch. “I just…he won’t tell me _anything_.”

Kira nods as she unwraps her burger. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw him without a shirt.”

“Wow, that must be such a hardship for you,” Liam deadpans from the front desk. He waves his hands mockingly. “‘I haven’t seen my boyfriend’s chest for an entire _week_.’ What a tragedy.”

Derek glares at him before turning back to Kira. “Kira,” he wheedles. “You’re the one who made it. Aren’t you upset that he refuses to share your art with the world?”

“No, just with you, actually,” Liam pipes up. He beams. “I got to help fill in the – stuff,” he corrects hastily when Kira shoots him a glare. “Got to fill in a bunch of stuff.”

“Stuff,” Derek repeats flatly. He turns back to Kira. “Seriously?”

“He just doesn’t want you to see it while it’s still peeling, Derek,” she says. “You know the healing process isn’t very pretty.”

Derek sighs. “I know.”

“Besides, he designed it, not me.”

He shoots upright. _“What?”_ Kira blinks innocently at him and takes another bite of her burger. “ _Kira_.”

She sets down her burger with a sigh. “If I tell you, will you stop nagging the entire shop about this?”

“I haven’t been _nagging_.”

“Yes you have,” Liam says.

Derek ignores him. “If you tell me,” he says to Kira, “I promise I won’t bring it up ever again until he shows me.”

“Fine.” She leans forward, and Derek eagerly tilts his head close to hers. “Wait another month.”

He leans back with a scowl as she shoves a handful of fries into her mouth. “You’re the worst, Kira.”

Kira flashes him a sunny grin. “Thanks for lunch.”

 

Scott steps out of the office to find Derek already packing up his station. “You don’t have to do that,” he says while he locks the office door.

“I know where everything goes,” Derek says with a shrug. “And the sooner your station’s packed up, the sooner we can go…”

He blinks when Derek trails off with a confused frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Your shirt,” Derek says. “You weren’t wearing that shirt at lunch today.”

“Oh.” He crosses the room and pulls a folded shirt out of his cabinet. “Ketchup stain from Malia’s fries.”

Derek nods, but he still stares confusedly while Scott packs away the rest of his supplies and locks the drawer. “You’re wearing a button-down.”

He feels the back of his neck heat. “Yeah, I am.”

Derek tilts his head. “You never wear button-downs.”

Scott turns around slowly, the bright lights from his work table burning hot down the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I, uh, was going to wait until we got home…”

Derek beams. He spins Scott around to sit in the chair, sitting down eagerly on Scott’s stool. Scott laughs. “…Or not.”

“Or not,” Derek agrees, staring intently at Scott’s shirt. He looks up when Scott hesitates, and the corner of his mouth quirks into a soft smile. “Sorry I’ve been making a big deal out of it,” he says, ducking his head with a faint blush. “I just…miss seeing all of you.”

He smiles. “And you hate being the last to know about something.”

“Yeah, that too,” Derek says with a laugh. He leans forward on the stool. “Okay, let’s see it.”

The table’s lights shine warm against his shirt as he reaches for the first button. He feels oddly self-conscious, sitting in the wrong chair with the too-bright mirror flinging his own face back at him. Derek shifts on the stool, blocking Scott’s reflection as he smiles encouragingly, and Scott lets out a breath and undoes the first button.

Derek eyes widen. “That’s a flower petal,” he says, voice pitching faster in excitement as Scott undoes the next button. “A blueberry blossom, right-”

He falls silent as Scott unbuttons the rest of his shirt, letting go of the ends to hang loosely on either side of the chair. “That’s,” Derek finally says, voice thick. He forces his head up to stare at Scott, eyes wide and confused and edged with something like desperation. “These are the flowers I…”

“The ones you gave me,” Scott finishes. He sits up a little straighter, and Derek’s eyes snap down to track the light curving over Scott’s shifting skin. “The arrangement you made for me.”

“Only you,” Derek murmurs. His hand reaches forward of its own accord, touching the ember-red dahlia at the center of Scott’s chest. “I…” he begins, then shakes his head. “What if this doesn’t work?” he asks. “What if we…”

“Derek.” He clasps their hands together, resting between his skin and the lights’ bright warmth. “I’ve known you for so long. And I’ve loved you-” He looks down at their hands, a smile curling its way across his face. “I’ve loved you for so long. I never want to forget you, no matter what happens.” He presses a kiss to Derek’s hand. “I never want to forget this.”

Derek’s hand traces the forget-me-not over Scott’s heart. “Me, neither,” he says, and leans in for a soft kiss. “I love you,” he sighs, breath ghosting warm and sweet over Scott’s lips. “I love you so much, Scott.”

“I love you, Derek.” Shivers rush down his spine as Derek traces each flower with his hands and lips, gliding along the curl of every petal and pressing kisses deep into his skin. He pulls Derek up for another kiss, tucking their heads together while he tries to catch his breath again. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmurs.

Derek nods, smiling against Scott’s lips while he traces the forget-me-not with a feather-light finger. “Anywhere you want to go.”

 

Derek walks into the tattoo shop, takes one glance at Liam, then nearly turns around and walks right back out.

“Oh, get over it!” Malia calls, not bothering to look up as she pushes the barbell through Liam’s eyebrow. “If it bothers you so much, you should know better than to watch by now.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Derek says, dropping onto the reception’s couch. “And it doesn’t bother me, it’s just…” He shrugs. “Catches me off guard, I guess.”

“You do realize you’re dating a tattoo and piercing artist, right?” Malia says.

“Moving in,” Kira corrects. She shoves Derek’s legs off the couch and sprawls next to him. “He’s _moving in_ with a tattoo and piercing artist now.”

“Yeah.” He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face, or the punch-drunk giddiness seeping into his voice. He’s _moving in_ with Scott. Officially. In a house and everything. “You’re coming over tomorrow to help us move heavy stuff, right?” he asks Malia.

She sighs. “I knew that’d come back to bite me in the ass one day,” she mutters to herself, then smiles humorlessly at Derek. “Looking forward to it.”

“I can help move heavy stuff,” Liam offers, not looking away from his reflection in Malia’s mirror.

“Why would you _offer_ to help,” Malia says. “Their house has two floors _and_ a porch. You really want to help carry things up all those stairs?”

“If it helps Scott, sure,” Liam says, shrugging. He turns to Derek. “You can carry your own stuff, though.”

“Thanks, Liam.”

Malia starts cleaning up her station. “So when’s the party?”

Derek frowns. “Party?”

“Housewarming party,” Kira clarifies. “You feed us lots of food, we give you lots of useful house gifts, that party.”

“Useful?” Braeden snorts, locking the door to her room behind her. “You gave me and Allison cat-shaped cookie cutters.”

“And how many times have you used those since you got them?” Kira asks.

Braeden rolls her eyes. “…Forty-five,” she mutters under her breath.

Kira smirks. “So,” she says, turning back to Derek, “When’s yours and Scott’s housewarming party?”

“We’re not even moved in yet,” Derek protests, but his mouth curves into a grin. His and Scott’s housewarming party. A party at his and Scott’s _house_. _His and Scott’s home_. He smiles, glancing at the red and white camellias on Scott’s table. “I’ll talk to Scott about it.”

“Can you ask Melissa if she can help with the food?” Braeden asks. “It’s not that we don’t like your cooking, it’s just that…”

“We don’t like your cooking,” Malia finishes. She locks her cabinet and squashes onto the couch between Derek and Kira. “I mean, you’re pretty good at grilling, but please don’t feed us your weird kale soup again.”

“Scott likes my weird kale soup,” Derek says. Kira and Liam glance awkwardly at each other. “Hey-”

The door opens, and a breeze laden with sun-warmed pollen follows Isaac inside. “Whoa,” he says, nudging Derek’s elbow off the arm of the couch and sitting down. “Nice eyebrow ring, Liam.”

“You like it?” Liam asks.

Isaac nods. “It looks really good on you. And not everyone can pull off that piercing – I mean, Derek would look terrible with that.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It really does look good on you, Liam,” he says. “Malia did a good job.”

“Of course I did,” Malia says. She nudges Derek with her elbow. “You know, if you ever think of getting one, I’ll make sure it’s as painless as possible. Liam can hold your hand while you cry if you want.”

“No, I won’t,” Liam says.

“I wouldn’t cry from getting my face pierced,” Derek says. “Or my anything. And thanks, Malia, but no thanks.”

“Oh, right.” Malia nods. “You’d want Scott to do them, of course.”

“No, I just don’t want any piercings.”

“Really?” Isaac asks. “None? Not even an ear?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good. If I really wanted a piercing, I would’ve gotten it by now.”

“You’re only twenty-eight,” Braeden says, snorting. “Plenty of time to change your mind. I mean, Scott has so many.”

“I know.” Derek nods. “And I love all of them.”

Isaac blinks at him. “That’s so cute, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Braeden raises an eyebrow. “Why’re you in here right now, by the way?”

“Waiting for Stiles to get off work so we can go back to his place, and then I’m gonna make him spaghetti for dinner,” Isaac says with a casual shrug. (Liam gags from behind the front desk.) “But you didn’t see me making any cheesy statements like how I love every single mole dotting his ass.”

The office door opens. “Aw, you say the sweetest things,” Stiles says, clutching his chest in the doorway.

Liam groans and knocks his forehead against the desk. “You guys are the worst,” he mumbles into the wood.

Stiles locks the office door with a shrug. “Nice eyebrow ring. Don’t squash it on the desk.”

“I know,” Liam says without lifting his forehead from the desk.

Stiles looks at Derek for a moment, then makes a face. “What?” Derek asks.

“Just trying to picture it,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “You’d look terrible with an eyebrow ring.”

“I don’t want an eyebrow ring.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kira sighs. “No body jewelry for Derek.”

The private room opens, and Scott leads Danny out of the shop. “And really, don’t hesitate to call me any time during the healing process,” he says, waving Danny out the door. He shuts the door and turns to the reception area. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Oh, just how Derek doesn’t have any piercings,” Malia says.

Scott laughs a little. “Oh, he does.”

“He _does?_ ” Isaac cranes his head around Derek, squinting all around his face, then tugs up his shirt. Derek swats his hand away and yanks his shirt back down. “I’ve never seen one anywhere. Wher-” His voice abruptly fades into a squeak as his eyes widen.

Derek gets up from the couch, smirking around the abruptly silent shop. “Ready to go?” he asks Scott, grabbing his bag from the coatrack.

Scott waves cheerfully at the rest of the shop still gaping at Derek. “Last night at the apartment,” he says, leaning up for a kiss. He opens the door and grins at Derek, bright and glowing against the springtime sun. “Let’s go.”

 

Scott slows to a stop in front of the shop’s door. A widespread arrangement sits on the table behind the window, golden peonies and blue violets mixed in with white periwinkles and tiny pink lily-of-the-valleys. Allison steps close to the glass, waving at Scott before taking the arrangement to the back room for the day’s end. Scott steps back from the window, eyes sliding shut as the summer breeze stirs through his hair, then glances at his shop when he hears the door open.

Stiles walks out of their shop, frowning when he sees Scott. “What’re you doing back here?” he asks. “I thought you went home a couple hours ago.”

“Yeah, I did,” Scott says. “Just coming back to pick up Derek.”

Stiles shakes his head as he locks the door, then notices the blue flowers bundled together in Scott’s hand. “I take it the garden’s starting to come together.”

“Yeah.” Scott ducks his head, feeling his cheeks heat in the hot evening air. He shrugs a little. “I just thought I’d…”

“No, it’s really sweet,” Stiles says. “Almost sickeningly so, but who cares.” He claps Scott on the arm, then frowns.

“What?”

“Your shirt,” Stiles says.

“Oh.” Scott looks down at his chest. “Yeah, I’m trying out button-downs again, you know, it’s-”

“No, I mean.” Stiles squints at it, brows drawing together. “I haven’t seen you wear that shirt in _years_. Not since college, at least.” His mouth falls open. “You’re finally unpacking your old New York boxes!”

“Finished unpacking them, actually,” Scott says, grinning. He pulls a keychain out of his pocket and tosses it to Stiles. “Found this at the bottom of one of them.”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “I’ve been looking for this for _seven years_.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Okay, I was looking for it for two months and then I stopped caring for six years and ten months, but still.” Stiles shoves the keychain into his pocket, shaking his head with a soft smile. “So. Finally broke down all your boxes, huh?”

He smiles. “Yeah, finally. Felt like the right time.”

Stiles nods. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too.” He grins at Stiles, then blinks at movement over his shoulder. “Hey, wasn’t Liam supposed to close with you today?”

“Yeah, I-” Stiles begins, then notices the keys in his hand. He turns around to see Liam glaring at him from the other side of the locked door. “Whoops.”

Liam unlocks the door. “I have my own set of keys!” he yells peevishly. “You didn’t have to lock me in.”

“I forgot you were still there, it was automatic, so sue me,” Stiles says, throwing up his hands. He points a finger at Liam. “Don’t actually sue me,” he adds. “Jackson hates both of us equally. He wouldn’t defend either of us in court.”

Liam’s eyes narrow. “That’s what you think.”

Scott walks away as the two bicker, heading for the flower shop just as its door opens with a familiar jingle. “Hey,” Derek says, sounding faintly surprised. “I thought you left early today. I was gonna catch a ride with Cora.”

Scott leans up for a kiss. “Surprise.”

Derek grins down at him, then his smile widens as he notices the flowers in Scott’s hand. “Are these from our garden?” he asks excitedly, lifting them closer to catch the setting sun’s rays.

 _Our garden_. Scott nods, cheeks aching as a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah. They’re still young, but I thought…”

“They’re beautiful.” Derek’s hand reaches up to rest on Scott’s chest, fingers tracing flowers inked deep into his skin. “The most beautiful forget-me-nots I’ve ever seen.”

Scott laughs. “Oh, now I _know_ you’re lying. You work in a flower shop, Derek.”

“I mean it,” Derek says. He plucks a flower from the bundle and tucks it behind Scott’s ear, threading the stem carefully through his earring. “They’re the most beautiful forget-me-nots I’ve ever seen, because they’re ours. We grew them together.”

Scott tucks another flower behind Derek’s ear. “Yeah,” he says, chest tingling as Derek presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, we did.”

Derek kisses him again, soft and sweet in the slow summer breeze, then threads their fingers together. “Ready to go?” he asks.

Scott nods, leaning up for another kiss – then jerks back quickly when a startled yelp echoes behind him, quickly followed by a muffled thud. They turn to see a mortified Liam staring at a young man sprawled awkwardly on the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry!” Liam says, crouching quickly to help him up. “It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going-”

“No, I wasn’t looking, either, it’s my fault,” the man says. He shoves his fallen papers into his folder, then pauses when he notices Liam’s eyebrow ring. “Do you work next door? At Anchor Tattoos?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding. “Well, sort of. I’m still an apprentice.”

“Well, I guess that means we’re sort of neighbors,” the man says with a grin. He sticks out his hand. “I’m Mason. I just started working at Hale Flowers. Or, well.” He shrugs. “I just got the job. I haven’t actually started yet.”

“No way!” Liam shakes his hand eagerly. “Congratulations! We should celebrate. Do you like pie?”

Mason blinks. “Huh?”

“Because the diner across the street makes the _best_ blueberry pie,” Liam says. “To celebrate you getting hired, I mean. If you don’t have other plans,” he adds quickly.

“I just moved here,” Mason says with a shrug. “My evening was just going to be lots of boring unpacking. Blueberry pie sounds _great_.”

Liam beams, leading him across the street. “You’re going to love it at Hale Flowers. Everyone’s really great. Oh, and if you bring marigolds to Danny at the used bookstore down the street, he lets you borrow books for free.”

“Awesome,” Mason says. “Um, sorry, what was your name again?”

“Oh, sorry.” Liam ducks his head. “I’m Liam.”

“Liam.” Mason grins. “Well, I’m really glad I ran into you, Liam.”

Scott turns back to Derek. “New hire, huh?” he asks. “Looks like he’s fitting in already.”

Derek laughs, bending down to kiss Scott’s cheek. “Yeah, he seems to really like it here so far. I hope he stays.”

“Me, too.” He leans up for a kiss, winding their hands together tight. Something settles in him as Derek draws him in close, arms wrapping around him like a lifeline. Their lips brush together, soft and steady, and warm contentment spreads through his chest like shoots finally breaking ground. Scott smiles. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out [henrymaarchbank's art masterpost](http://henrymaarchbanks.tumblr.com/post/126641478361/my-art-for-the-tw-reverse-bang-the-accompanying) and send her some love!!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com) if you wanna say hi!


	5. Flower Glossary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a glossary of meanings for all the flowers mentioned in the fic. The flowers are listed in order of appearance and grouped into separate chapters and scenes.
> 
> Please note that there are many variations of flower meanings (and contradictions, in some cases), so none of these are absolute definitions. I chose them because multiple sources seemed to agree on the meanings, and because the meanings suited particular scenes in the fic.

**Chapter One**

 

Scene 1

_various flower arrangements in Hale Flowers shop_

 

Scene 2

_ _

_Top 2 Rows: flower shop arrangement that is described but unnamed in the fic_

_Bottom 3 Rows: small flower arrangement given by Derek to Scott_

 

Scene 3

_Top Row: flowers that Derek considers giving to Paige as an anniversary present_

_Bottom Row: flowers that Scott creates wire versions of as a present for Allison_

 

Scene 4

_flower that Derek accidentally beheads after breaking up with Paige_

 

Scene 5

_flower gift for Danny from the used bookstore down the street_

 

Scene 6

_none_

 

Scene 7

_Top Rows: flowers typically used for graduation presents_

_Bottom Row: flower shop arrangement_

 

Scene 8

_Blueberry: ring given by Derek to Scott_

_Forget-me-not: painting given by Scott to Derek_

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Two**

 

Scene 1

_flower shop arrangement_

 

Scene 2

_Top/Bottom Rows: Zinnia removed from flower shop arrangement and replaced with Scarlet Pimpernel_

_Cherry blossom: mentioned in conversation_

_Yellow rose: given by Isaac to Melissa McCall_

 

Scene 3

_flower farm delivery_

 

Scene 4

_flower shop arrangement_

 

Scene 5

_none_

 

Scene 6

_all but Tulip: flower shop arrangements_

_Tulip: given by Derek to Braeden_

 

Scene 7

_none_

 

Scene 8

_flowers in greenhouse_

 

Scene 9

_none_

 

Scene 10

_flower shop arrangement_

 

Scene 11

_Pink rose: given by Malia to Kira_

_Freesia: given by Lydia to Allison_

_Bottom Row: given by flower shop (via Malia) to Scott as tattoo shop decoration_

 

Scene 12

_Bellflower: flower shop arrangement_

_Protea: included in new flower shop painting_

_Forget-me-not: included in former flower shop painting_

 

Scene 13

_given by flower shop (via Derek) to Scott as tattoo shop decoration_

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Three**

 

Scene 1

_none_

 

Scene 2

_given by Allison to Braeden_

 

Scene 3

_none_

 

Scene 4

_none_

 

Scene 5

_none_

 

Scene 6

_Gladiolus/sword lily: given by Malia to Kira_

_Chamomile: Isaac's tattoo_

 

Scene 7

_none_

 

Scene 8

_none_

 

Scene 9

_all but Phlox: included in Erica's bridal bouquet_

_Phlox: removed from Erica's bridal bouquet, given by Derek to Scott_

 

Scene 10

_none_

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Scene 1

 

_included in flower shop painting_

 

Scene 2

_included in arrangement given by Derek to Scott_

 

Scene 3

_worn by Erica_

 

Scene 4

_included in Scott's sketch_

 

Scene 5

_none_

 

Scene 6

_none_

 

Scene 7

_Succulent: flower shop arrangement_

_Red rose: given by Derek to Scott_

_Bottom Row: flowers in greenhouse_

 

Scene 8

_none_

 

Scene 9

_none_

 

Scene 10

_included in Scott's tattoo_

 

Scene 11

_none_

 

Scene 12

_ _

_all but Forget-me-not: flower shop arrangement_

_Forget-me-not: given by Scott to Derek_


End file.
